


Can't Find My Way Home

by Mrstserc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrstserc/pseuds/Mrstserc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(A pre-S9 fic) A hunt goes sideways leaving Dean whammied by witchcraft and with no memory of who he is. New hunters Charlie and Castiel lose him before getting home. Sam must lead the team to find his lost brother and then find a way to cure him while fighting off Abaddon, the new queen of Hell. Angels, demons, and head canon. Let me know if you agree or not. This takes place after Season 8 and contains spoilers. I do not own the rights to Supernatural or any of the characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Come down off your throne and leave your body alone._

_Somebody must change._

_You are the reason I’ve been waiting so long._

_Somebody holds the key._

_But I’m near the end and I just ain’t got the time_

_And I’m wasted and I can't find my way home.”_

_Blind Faith_

Charlie Bradbury moved the front seat of the Impala almost as far forward as it would go when she got behind the wheel, making it even more awkward for the de-powered angel beside her to check on the tall man stretched across the back seat. Castiel, Charlie, and Dean had been in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, taking down what they thought was a werewolf when Dean got whammied by the coven of witches that had cursed a man to become a Loup Garou. The older Winchester had thought it would be a routine training mission for the two new hunters, based on the information from the team’s researchers, Sam Winchester and Kevin Tran.

The Loup Garou was responsible for four deaths in the community before the Winchesters caught wind of what was happening. The team hurried the thousand miles there and managed to save a fifth victim before taking the monster down. Dean had made the actual kill with a blessed silver bullet, and he had immediately been hit by a spell which appeared to have knocked him unconscious. It was the sizzling air around him before he fell that tipped Charlie and Cas that something weird was happening. Their explanation triggered Sam’s memory of a similar account he had read recently. He was pretty sure about what must have happened when Charlie had called him asking what they should do. Loup Garou’s aren’t like regular werewolves; instead, it is a curse put on them by a magic user, and it usually has a specific timeframe and retaliatory spells if someone kills the Loup Garou.

Back at the Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, Sam was still recuperating from trials meant to close Hell’s gates, and Kevin, the prophet of the lord, seemed determined to never become a full-fledged supernatural hunter. They were guarding the group’s prisoner, the former king of hell, Crowley, too. With the sudden turn of events leaving the away team leaderless, Sam suggested they get back ASAP while they figured out how to undo the curse.

As Cas loaded the stricken hunter into the big black car at 6 a.m., Charlie insisted on driving the Chevy because she said the former angel was the world’s worst driver. Hours later, Charlie and Cas had left the windows rolled down for the man stretched out in the back while they went into a diner to eat lunch after gassing up. They were both amazed to find Dean gone when they came back out, and they spent a couple hours scouring the small Texas town looking for him before calling Sam again.

“What do you mean, missing?” Sam’s voice grows louder as the former angel explains the situation. Sam runs his hands through his hair and rubs the back of his neck.

Castiel’s words become deeper and more graveled as he answers the younger Winchester. “What of this do you need me to explain to you again, Sam? We gassed up, used the restrooms, and grabbed burgers after driving from Baton Rouge to north of Dallas. When we got back to the car, Dean was gone. We have interviewed as many people as we dared without involving the authorities. We have searched in every direction. There is no sign of him.” Cas’s mouth snaps shut audibly.

“I’m still trying to get over you two leaving him in the car with the windows down like a pet dog!” Sam answers frantically. “Did you try calling his cell?” Sam is struggling to make sense of the situation. As the younger brother, he’s not used to being the undisputed leader with hunters relying on him. Dean does that; he’s the reliable one who’s nurturing to the new hunters.

Cas gnashes his teeth in frustration. “What did you expect us to do? Carry him with us, Sam?” The former angel takes a calming breath. “We have tried all ordinary methods of searching for your brother. We are calling to determine whether you have extraordinary measures to suggest.”

Charlie, pacing near Cas, snatches the phone from his hand and says hurriedly, “GPS! Try his cell’s GPS.”

Sam opens the program and enters his password. “Okay. The map shows the signal at these coordinates, just a few meters away from where your phone is showing active.”

Following Sam’s instructions, Cas and Charlie move along the road. Their eyes move constantly, checking in windows and along the street. Charlie finds Dean’s cell near a trashcan in a small deserted playground, and the both seach under bushes and in nearby ditches, finding his wallet, too.

“Now what?” Cas asks Sam.

“Now you go see if that town has any kind of cameras to hack while I go talk to Crowley and find out how he’s been locating us all these years,” Sam says over the phone. ”Then you two get a motel room and stay put. I’ll call you back.”

Sam puts his cell down, puzzled and worried over the events. Was Dean kidnapped by the witches? By demons or angels? Did he wake up and leave on purpose? This feels like losing Dean to Purgatory all over again, but worse in some way. They know he’s out there, there’s just no sign of him. “I can’t lose him now, right when things are just starting to get back to normal.” Sam mumbles as he makes his way down the steps to the old record room that contains the hidden dungeon and Crowley.

“About bloody time you came to check on me,” Crowley grouses as Sam nears him. “The food’s bad when your brother’s not here, but it’s better than nothing, which is what I’ve had for lunch.” The king of hell is living in the dungeon, wards keeping him confined to the room that the Winchesters have furnished with a bed, table and chair. Sam had convinced Dean not to kill Crowley after the aborted mission to close Hell’s gates because he thought the demon was at least partially redeemed. The situation was in flux though, and Dean sounded like he was quoting from the movie _The Princess Bride_ – telling Crowley he would most likely kill him tomorrow almost every day.

 Sam turns toward Kevin who is sitting at a desk across from the dungeon, going through old cases kept there, feet up, reading. “Kevin. Hey, Kevin? That true?” Sam realizes that Kevin has earbuds in listening to music and he taps one of Kevin’s feet. “Yo, Kevin.”

The young prophet lifts his gaze and pulls out an earpiece. “Huh? What’s up, Sam?”

Sam sighs. Kevin gets single-minded when he researches. Usually Dean keeps them all on a regular meal schedule but with Dean missing in action, Sam will need to remember to eat himself if he is to keep Kevin and Crowley fed. “Lunch for everyone, as soon as I get upstairs to make it. And I need to talk to you, but first, though, I need to know something from you, Crowley. How’d you always manage to find us?”

. . . . . . . . . .

Heat radiates from the highway’s asphalt, wafting oil and gas fumes along with underlying odors of garbage and dead animals, gagging the man standing on the shoulder. The rays from the sun directly overhead feel like an iron pressed along his skin and on his scalp through his short spiked hair. His lips are dry and cracking, his mouth too parched to make licking his lips possible. Worse, though, is that the man has no idea where he is or where he is going. Stretching away on either side of the highway, past the clumps of wildflowers tangling with guardrails over dried out drainage ditches, are miles of grass fields and brush wilting under the cloudless sky, color leaching away turning them tawny. The ground looks cracked in places, old sinkholes breaking up the expanses.

Green eyes squinting against the relentless brightness, the man scans ahead and overhead, vowing the fucking turkey buzzards can keep looking for an easy meal as the birds weave circular patterns in the sky. In the distance, he sees a highway sign and knows it will say something, give him some clue, as to where he is and where he may be heading.

The man pats the pockets of his jeans as he trudges toward the sign, but he doesn’t find a wallet or a cellphone, just a Buck knife, a few bills folded in a money clip shaped like a W, a rosary, a bandana, a Zippo lighter, and a cheap flask. He unscrews the top and takes a sip, expecting whiskey only to taste water, and he gulps half the contents, pleased even if the liquid is lukewarm. Soaking the dark brown bandana, he ties it on his head, wishing he had been smart enough to wear a hat. He finds a receipt in the pocket of the dark green tee he is wearing, a hotel in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He does all this while pushing back panicked thoughts.

Has he had some sort of heatstroke? Where’s his car – if he’s on a highway, he should have one – shouldn’t he? How did he get there? Where is he? Fuck, who is he? Has the sun baked his brain? He runs his hand carefully over his skull, finding some bumps and wondering if he was hurt badly enough to account for amnesia.

“Frikkin’ stupid problem,” he mutters angrily.  It’s disconcerting to wrack your brain trying to see if your name is rolling around inside lost. His only clue is the money clip, so he starts running through possible names as he walks just  to see if anything sounds familiar. “William, Will, Willie… ugh, hope not. Warren, Wes, Wade, Wayne, Woody, Wilson, West, Wyatt…” None of them rings a bell, and he quickly runs out of ideas. “Maybe it’s from my last name.” He trails off as he moves close enough to read the sign. “Or, I’m in Texas…maybe I’m just called Dubya.” He hears a truck coming, turns and holds out his thumb figuring he’ll keep heading north.


	2. Chapter 2

“They lost your brother? Like losing their luggage on holiday?” Crowley is trying to hide his amusement, but not very hard. He obviously thinks the fact that Charlie and Castiel misplaced a stricken Dean somewhere in Texas is wildly amusing. It’s really starting to piss Sam off because he’s the exact opposite of amused.

“Stow it, Crowley, I didn’t tell you this to brighten your day….” The younger Winchester’s face suffuses with color as he attempts to keep his anger under control.

“No? Oh. Well, it did anyway.” Crowley smirks as he lifts his cup to swallow the last of his tea, having already finished the bacon sandwich Sam provided. “So, then, Moose, why are you telling me this?”

Taking a moment to get his feelings under control, Sam wonders if consulting the demon really was a bright idea. With Dean missing, Sam wanted to find out how the former cross-roads demon always seemed to be able to find the brothers no matter where in the U.S. they were. “How did you always manage to find us, when we had hex bags to prevent it? Did you have a tracking spell?” Sam manages to get out clearly.

The captive king of hell looks over his cup, calculation in his gaze, so Sam is prepared when the demon speaks again. “If I help you find him, what’s in it for me?”

Sam sighs. Now he has to figure out if what Crowley has to offer is important enough to make any kind of deal, because Crowley normally gets the best of them whenever this scenario comes up. “I don’t suppose you’ll just tell me?” He asks reasonable.

“Now why would I do that?” Crowley practically brays. “Do you think I have Stockholm syndrome? That I think we’re buds? You’re holding me captive, you blithering idiot. Of course I’m going to try to get some kind of concession. Information is a valuable commodity.” He twists to lock his gaze on Sam. “Tit for tat, or you can forget getting anything out of me.”

Sam’s hazel eyes narrow. He thinks about how often he has stopped Dean, his currently missing brother, from using extreme measures to get information from this demon. He’s starting to get his older sibling’s urge to deal harshly with him, and some of this must show in his look because the demon is backtracking. “Now, Sam, be reasonable,” Crowley says, as he backs away from the towering figure.

“I don’t want to be reasonable,” Sam grits out through his teeth. “I want to make sure Dean is okay. And I can’t do that is I can’t find him. So, you either know how to find him and are wasting my time, time I don’t have to waste, or you don’t and you’re really wasting my time. Which is it?”

The demon sneers at him. “I don’t understand why you even want your moron brother back. There is a direct link with everything wrong in your world right now and your brother’s miserable choices. If he had listened to your father and killed you or just let you stay dead … no apocalypse … no demon blood addiction for his little Sammy … no broken seals. If he had said yes to Michael, you wouldn’t have had to go to Hell. Bloody Dean Winchester, he’s at fault in most of this. Now if you insist on getting him back -- I can find out where he is, if you let me contact hell. Otherwise, unless you’re willing to sell your soul, I can’t help.”

“I remember things differently,” Sam growls. “I remember him doing right by me.”

“Bah,” Crowley retorts. “You Winchesters are so selfish – saving yourselves when you could be saving the world.”

”I’ll figure out a way to find him, Crowley. And when I do, I guess I’ll stop convincing him we need you alive.” Sam slams the door as he leaves the dungeon and heads to the library. While stomping away thinking about what Crowley just said, and Sam remembers that Ruby once showed him a location spell because the angels had kidnapped Dean to make him torture Alastair. As he enters the library, he takes out his laptop and goes into his journal, looking back four years and praying he took notes. That was during the height of his blood drinking and he was feeling pretty arrogant, drunk on Ruby’s blood. He wipes his hand across his mouth, realizing that lust for power is not completely gone, like an alcoholic he must fight his addiction every day.

Sam gathers the items he will need, places them on the map, and positions his laptop to where he can see the text of the incantation. He lights the candle and begins chanting.

When he calls the spell to an end, Sam looks over the map tiredly, drained from the energy he used in performing the magic needed. He sighs deeply as he picks up his phone and dials Castiel.

“He’s in Oklahoma City.”

**. . . . . . .**

Dean waves his thanks to the trucker who gave him a lift to Oklahoma City, ducking the gray dust from the graveled parking lot as the semi leaves with a toot of his horn. The guy was helpful and seemed concern when Dean admitted that he didn’t remember his name or anything about himself. He wanted to take him to a hospital, but Dean told him he’d get help when he got to Kansas.

“I can’t really remember anything, Man, but there’s something in me that says everything will turn out okay if I can just get to Kansas. Up in the north central area.” Dean assured the guy. “I think I’ve got family there, or something, someone who’s probably looking for me.” Dean didn’t know how he knew that. It was a little thought, like a mental itch, telling him Kansas was home.

“Do you think you were in an accident?” Joe the trucker asked. The guy had stopped and picked Dean up on Interstate 35 north of Denton, but was heading east from Oklahoma City.

“I don’t know man. I looked around, but I didn’t see a car or anything. It was like I woke up alongside the highway, only I can’t remember how I got there or who I am. I’ve got some bumps on my head and all, but it doesn’t seem like they’re bad enough to explain it.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how long I was there, even. I thought this stuff was made up. Amnesia. Damn.” He shared a quick grin with the driver. “Some kind of daytime television shit, right?”

The two men passed the time on the road trying to jog Dean’s memory, playing word association games and guessing what Dean’s answers meant. All they figured out was that he seemed to like sports, knew the mascot and stats from the University of Kansas teams, might have been military because he seemed to know a lot about guns, was probably religious with how often things made him think of heaven or hell, angels and demons. They also agreed that he seemed to know cars and engines.

Joe found himself really liking the guy and feeling sorry for what he seemed to be going through. He gave him an old cap, a bottle of cold water, and a sandwich before dropping him off. Using his CB radio, he had contacted another trucker who was heading into Kansas and arranged for the guy to meet Dean in the diner to give him a lift. Joe also insisted Dean take down his address and phone number. “Let me know when you find out where you’re going. I feel like I should do more to help.” He said. Then he tried to give Dean some money, but Dean waved it away.

“Nah, you’ve done enough, Joe.” Dean said with a genuine smile, “I’ll keep what you said in mind. If I don’t start remembering stuff soon, I’ll go have the cops help me, fingerprint me or something.”

Dean ambled over near the restaurant, but he didn’t go in. He leaned against the wall and polished off the sandwich swigging at the water between bites. He was watching the lot because Joe told him the next guy would be in a hurry, but would get him all the way to Topeka, Kansas. Dean didn’t have long to wait until and older man in a red tanker truck pulled in.

“Hey, you the dude Joe wants me to give a lift to Topeka?” He called, then and at Dean’s nod he motioned him to wait there. “C’mon into the diner with me, then. I wanna get some chow and caffeine before hitting the road again. We’ve got about five hours of driving to go.”

**. . . . . . .**

“Of course he is not still here.” Castiel sounded annoyed as he and Charlie left the restaurant at the truck stop just south of Oklahoma City.

Charlie sighed. Since they had checked everywhere at the coordinates Sam had given them, she had to agree with the former angel. “Yeah, he’s not here unless he’s using his active camouflage,” she quipped, making Cas’s lips tighten. He was tired of telling her he didn’t understand her references, as tired as she was trying to explain them to him. The fact that he made his disdain for playing video games like Halo known the first time she told him about them hadn’t helped.

Without Dean smoothing things over between them, the pair was barely speaking to each other, definitely not a well-practiced hunting team. With his voice more gravelly through his clenched mouth Cas added, “We are going about this wrong.”

“Well, Dude, if you know a better way, you need to call Sam and let him know.” Charlie gathered her pants suit jacket, dreading putting it on in the heat. “I’m thinking we go inside, find out if anyone saw him, flash our badges and try to get a look at any surveillance camera video. If you’ve got a better idea, speak now.”

Castiel glared at her as he followed her toward the restaurant. “No, that’s all fine. I just meant that we need to determine where he is heading, not just try to blindly follow him. Once we have discovered all we can here, I will call Sam.”

The waitress remembered Dean from the description and told them he had been in a few hours back with an older guy, a trucker they saw on a regular basis; but, no, she had no idea where they were headed except north. Flashing their FBI credentials, the hunters got the manager to let them go over his video. It seemed pretty obvious that Dean wasn’t being held hostage, and Castiel cocked his head as he watched his friend on the computer monitor.

The manager watched over their shoulders, leaning forward to touch the screen. “This the guy you’re looking for? What he do?” He asked excitedly, but not pausing long enough for an answer. “He had some whack-job story. Amnesia, he claimed. All he could remember was that he needed to get to Kansas.”

Charlie and Cas exchanged a long look.

“Is he a terrorist? Escaped criminal? I don’t know, man, he seemed nice enough, I guess. Getting a ride with a trucker into Kansas, I think.”

Cas interrupted him. “We would appreciate any other information you have on this man, but, no. He’s no criminal. In fact, he works with us.”

Now they really needed to talk to Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

“Now what?” Dean mutters, peering around like one of the street signs may have directions especially for him.

Red, the truck driver, had pulled over and let Dean out to follow the train tracks south into Lawrence from the Kansas Toll Road east of Topeka. It was already dark and drizzling, so Dean was grateful when Red pressed an olive drab poncho on him while wishing him luck. Now, Dean is standing at an intersection near the Kaw River power plant in a deserted part of Lawrence nearing midnight in an insistent but not hard rain, feet wet, tired, lost, confused and near despair. He really had deluded himself that things would make more sense, and that his memory might snap back when he reached the place that had been like a lighthouse in the dark sea of his amnesia.

The metallic clank of a tool hitting the ground, and the distinct sound of grumbling, lead Dean to explore further down the road, finding a middle-aged black man under the hood of a dark Dodge pickup truck. When Dean clears his throat, the man turns holding up a socket wrench like a weapon.

Dean raises his empty hands. “Whoa, Dude! I just thought you looked like you needed a hand.”

The man snorts. “Huh, big guy like you wanders up out of the dark when you’re broken down alongside the road…course I’m gonna be leery. How do I know you’re not gonna rob me?” But even as he’s talking, the guy is taking in Dean’s appearance, short cropped hair, stubbled jaw, big green eyes tired and haunted, hunched shoulders, diffident tilt of his head. “What’s your story,” he asks.

Dean shrugs, and tells this guy what he knows, which isn’t much - just a day long trip up from Texas - while getting him to hold a flashlight. Dean hunches over the engine and finds the lose connection. He sorts through the tools until he finds the right one, tightens the cable, talking softly the whole time. He doesn’t realize how lost he sounds, tugging at the older man’s conscience and Christian morality. “Try it now,” Dean says, giving a satisfied grin when the engine turns over.

The two men pick up the tools while the older one shoots considering looks toward Dean. Once they finish, he holds out his hand. “Mike Everett.” He says, by way of introduction. Dean shakes his hand while giving a half-shrug. He has no way to introduce himself, and Mike realizes that. The older man considers how that might feel, considers Bible passages about angels in disguise, good Samaritans, and obligations to neighbors.

“Want to ride with me? I can take you to the farm; let you sleep out in the barn. It’s not too bad, gotta cot in the workshop, a john too; it’ll get you outta the rain for the night. Wife and I’ll feed you in the morning, see if we can help you sort things out, bring you back into town. Who knows, maybe you’ll remember something while you’re sleeping. If not, I know our pastor you’ll help you out. Just don’t be some kind of weirdo serial killer and murder us in our sleep, okay?” Mike’s gruff voice can’t hide his kindness.

Dean gives him a crooked smile. “I’ll try not to. And I, umm, I really appreciate you taking a chance like this. It’s, umm, just … thanks. It’s been a really strange day. So, yes. I’d like to take you up on the offer. Get out of the rain.” Like punctuating the thought, shivers shake him.

Later, after shucking off his wet boots and socks, hanging the poncho to dry alongside them, Dean huddles under a wool blanket on a slightly too short cot, glad for the warmth. He’s exhausted and achy, kicking himself for being in this ridiculous position, overly tense from just straining so hard all day, trying to remember, reliant completely on the kindness of strangers. And that doesn’t feel right; he thinks he’s the one who should be doing the helping.

“Whoever I am, I hope I’m not this fucking pathetic all the time,” he mutters, snorts at how close to a prayer that was. Finally he gives in to the waves of tiredness rolling over him and closes his eyes.

**. . . . . . .**

Castiel has a splitting headache by the time Charlie parks the car outside the bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, that night. He had been straining his eyes trying to scan the areas alongside the highways between Oklahoma City and the lair with no luck. Cas knew it was unlikely, but there aren’t many ways to travel from point A to point B, so there was a chance.

“We need to see if Sam has any other ideas,” Charlie says as she gathers her bag from the trunk, Cas gathers his belongings and Dean’s, rolling his eyes and sending her a sour look. He doesn’t understand why she always feels the need to talk, stating the obvious.  He still doesn’t understand why the Winchesters are including this woman in hunter training, but after what Metatron did to him, how powerless and reliant on Dam and Dean’s goodwill he is, he keeps those opinions to himself, mostly.

Charlie, well, having read about Castiel and heard the stories, she doesn’t understand why the brothers trust him. Castiel, to her, hasn’t ever been as helpful as he had been harmful to them, and always while trying to do what he thought was right, supposedly. To Charlie, it seemed more often that Cas was arrogant, but cute. The redhead chuckles to herself; isn’t she being a bit arrogant herself? She found out about … well, about what’s really out there…and now she thinks she can be the hero, like Sam and Dean who have been training for this their entire life?

Kevin meets them at the door, opening it and following the ritual they use every time now, holy water, silver, washing hands with Borax, angel exorcism chant. With the king of hell their prisoner, they can’t be too careful.

“Sam’s going crazy worrying,” Kevin warns them as he waves them further into the bunker and locks up. “He’s preparing a second location spell. I asked him to let me do it ‘cause he doesn’t look good right now.” Kevin’s filling them in in a hushed voice, not wanting to have Sam overhear. “Maybe you can convince him?” Then without warning, Kevin raises his voice and booms out. “They’re back! Yo, Sam!”

The large Winchester rushes into the front foyer. “Cas! Charlie! Do you think he’s headed here? Because if he was, wouldn’t he be here?” Kevin’s warning comes in handy; neither of the returning hunters is overly startled by Sam’s flustered appearance. Castiel looks him over and decides that he must intervene.

“Sam, shouldn’t you be asleep? You are still recovering from the trials.” Castiel shoos Sam toward the library where they all see that Sam has set up for a ritual. The former angel pulls out a chair and gestures for Sam to take it, but Sam is pacing and shakes his head at Cas.

“I’ve got to find Dean, Cas. He could be in trouble. He’s out there alone, unprotected, and it sounds like he is unaware of the danger he’s in. What if demons find him before me? Or angels?” Sam pushes his hair back frenetically.

Charlie steps up and stops Sam from his pacing with a hug, holding on until he hugs back. “Sam, sit. We just got here and we all need sleep. Besides as far as we know, Dean is fine. He looks fine, just a little sunburned. Let me show you a copy of the video from the truck stop. You’ll see.” Even as she’s talking, Charlie takes out her laptop, opening it and logging in. Sam and the others settle into chairs around the library table.

Sam leans in as though getting closer to the computer screen will bring him closer to his brother as they watch the faintly flickering  surveillance video of Dean, dusty from the road and wearing a ball cap, trail another man into the restaurant. As they watch, Dean drinks two glasses of water and even excuses himself to the restroom and returns. It’s obvious he isn’t being coerced. He actually seems fairly relaxed, smiling at the other guy and the waitress.

When the video shows him leaving again, Sam frowns and pushes the button to restart it, watching again. “So what did the witnesses say again?”

“They say he seemed fine, told them he couldn’t remember anything before waking up on a roadside in Texas, and that he thought he needed to get to Kansas. That he thought Kansas was home and felt like someone in Kansas was looking for him.” Charlie is repeating what she’d already told Sam over the phone, but Sam is hanging on them like she may offer something new.

“But if he said he was going home, and he was a few hours ahead of you, why isn’t he here?” Sam’s thinking out loud. He pauses, brows drawn together. “He’s in Lawrence…he’s gotta be. Now, who do we still know in Lawrence, cause that’s a couple hundred miles from here.” Sam starts pacing again, gets an idea and hurries away, finally returning from Dean’s room carrying their father’s journal. “I went to Missouri, and learned the truth…” Sam starts reading. “Missouri is Missouri Moseley, a psychic in Lawrence that Dad went to. Dean and I worked a case with her seven years ago. I wonder…” He trails off as he leans over the computer calling up a phone directory. “Yes, she still there,” he begins triumphantly, grabbing a phone only to stop when Charlie makes a squeaky noise.

“Don’t you think we should wait until morning?” Kevin asks, jaws cracking as he yawns.

Sam looks at the time on the cell phone display. 12:18. He groans. From what he remembers of the older woman, she would not be pleased to get a phone call in the middle of the night.

Castiel lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s all try to get some sleep. We can try her number first thing in the morning. We can do the spell then too, Sam. It’ll only take about four hours to drive there.” He’s doing his best to offer comfort and assurance, taking what he sees as Dean’s role upon him.

Sam snorts at the obviousness, but he gives in to good sense. “Okay, so we meet back here at six?” The others groan, but agree and wander toward their bedrooms.

. . . . . . .

Back near Lawrence, Dean jolts awake heart pounding. His watch says it’s still hours before sunrise and he lies still giving his heart a chance to regain its normal rhythm as he listens intently, trying to overcome the fear his nightmare created. He chuckles to himself. “I’m kinda old to be worrying about monsters in the dark,” he mutters, but he takes his pocket knife out and unfolds it, holding it under the pillow as he falls back asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

“Owww, Lady! Hey, what the…” Dean cuts himself off in deference to standing inside a church, but really…why is some older black woman whacking him with a wooden spoon?

“Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe, I told you to keep in touch, boy. It has been seven years! Do you hear me, boy? Seven years of worrying!” Missouri Moseley trails off, growing quiet as she reads the energy of this man in front of her. Reads his uncertainty and bafflement.  It had been a big surprise for the psychic - who was helping feed the homeless at her church - to see who Mike Everett was ushering in.

And now Mike is almost beside himself. “You know him, Missouri? Praise the Lord! I found him alongside the road last night. He’s got amnesia. But sounds like you know his name and everything. Dean, huh?” Mike had grown fond of the polite younger man who had helped him with his broken-down truck last night, and then insisted on helping with chores on the farm before accepting breakfast. The guy’s soft-spoken and a skilled handyman. If Mike hadn’t promised himself ahead of time to help the guy find out who he was, he would have just let him stay at the farm.

Missouri closes the distance between her and Dean, still entranced by what she reads in his aura – a reading free of the smart-Alec attitude that drove her nuts last time she saw him, cleansed of the dark cloud that he hid behind a cocky smile, completely free of old pain and guilt. “Oh, boy, what have you gotten yourself into now?” Missouri asks, lowering her arm.

As the older woman crowds him, Dean backs up until he plops onto the bench behind him. Missouri grabs his chin forcing his face up, meeting eyes the color of sea glass that are open windows to a shining soul. They startle her. This man, honest and trusting, has been hidden inside a broken man. Even the four-year-old she had first met hadn’t had such openness.

“Yes, I know Dean, better than he knows himself right now; I can tell. Knew his daddy, too, and his little brother.” She fixes him with a stare. “Mike, you probably knew him too, or at least knew of him. Remember that fire in town thirty years back, where the young mother died and the little boy carried his baby brother out of the house?”

Mike Everett searches his memory a little, but what had happened is part of local lore so he fishes the story out. “Oh, that. Big tragedy. That was Mary Campbell’s family. Hell, I remember her and her daddy.” Mike takes a closer look at Dean. “Guess I kinda see a resemblance to his mom. Samuel Campbell helped me out once, and what was his wife’s name again?”

Missouri answers shortly. “Deanna. This one’s named for her.”

“Which one is he?” Mike asks. And Dean turns wondering eyes to Missouri as well.

“He’s the little hero.” Missouri says. “Grew up to be a big damn hero, too, him and his brother both.”

Dean clears his throat, feeling embarrassed at that answer and by being the focus of attention. “Are they still here? My family?” Dean turns a hopeful gaze back on her. “You say you know my father and I’ve got a brother?” He stops himself, pulling back a little, trying to keep his neediness inside to preserve a little of his dignity.

“Oh, Honey, your daddy passed six or seven years ago.” Missouri wishes she could soften it, could tell this man a story filled with rainbows and light, but she won’t lie to him. “Mike,” she says, handing him the wooden spoon she still held in her hands. “Will you let the pastor know I had to leave? Doubt he’ll be real surprised, I’ve been here since first light. If this boy’s here and lost, his brother will be along soon looking for him. I’m gonna take him along home with me.”

Missouri wanted to get Dean to her house because it was heavily warded against the supernatural. Through her contacts within the community, Missouri knew some of what the Winchesters had been through. That kind of notoriety brings a certain amount of backlash from some pretty powerful beings. Missouri would rather keep the people at her church out of the line of fire.

“Come along, Dean. I’ll get you home, and you can shower while I try to reach your brother. I’ve got some old clothes your daddy left at my place years ago that should fit, I think. I’d just as soon wait ‘til we reach your brother and I have a better idea of what is going on before I say much.”

Missouri’s shepherding Dean toward the door as she talks, leaving him barely enough time to tell Mike goodbye.

**. . . . . . .**

Have you ever had one of those mornings when everything is just wrong? When you bruise yourself banging into the showerhead? (Okay, maybe not, unless you’re really tall like Sam.) When you burn your tongue on the coffee that you have to drink without creamer because someone put an empty container back in the fridge and no one has gone shopping in a few days? When you can’t find a clean dress shirt? Or the iron to press wrinkles out of one that doesn’t smell too bad?  When you go to tie your shoe and the lace breaks? When the bickering of people around you makes you want to scream? And you are so worried about your brother that you can’t eat?

Sam’s day starts off that way. He waited until seven a.m. to start trying Missouri’s number, but she hasn’t answered. All he has been able to reach is her voice mail, but after four messages…. He completed the spell again and confirmed Dean’s location in Lawrence.

One problem he has to deal with immediately is figuring out who to leave here to guard Crowley and who to bring with him – when he just wants to bash all their heads together and take off on his own. With any luck, Sam can get Dean and return to the bunker today; it’s just four hours of driving in both directions. Sam wants it over because Sam isn’t used to dealing with personnel problems. That’s Dean’s area. He can smooth things over with a joke or a self-deprecating remark.

Besides, it’s Dean and Sam needs him; he needs his brother back. Somehow when Dean is there, things just run more smoothly; Dean keeps the group together and working as a team. Sam figures it’s a skill Dean learned and perfected from years of keeping Sam and John from coming to blows. Funny to think of his big brother as a peacemaker, but…if the shoe fits….

Cas and Charlie are still blaming each other for losing Dean. Kevin is being a brat, half-heartedly doing anything when he’s asked to pitch in. Kevin’s still pissed that Sam didn’t complete the demon trials after all the work he did to translate the tablet; not that he wants Sam dead, but he really wants Crowley dead. Sam doesn’t feel like it’ll be safe to leave Cas to watch Kevin because Castiel has been very vocal about wanting Crowley dead too. That leaves Charlie, who’s new and unsure of herself. Sam guesses his best bet is to leave Kevin and Charlie here – with orders not to kill Crowley – and take the former angel with him.

As he informs the little group of their assignments, Sam can’t help sounding stressed. “Kevin, please research the witch’s Loup Garou spell, so we can figure out how to undo what’s been done to Dean. And nobody kill anyone here until we get back – so don’t forget to feed and water Crowley…” Sam trails off in the face of Kevin’s smirk and Cas’s scowl. But Charlie assures Sam that she’ll take care of things.

“Sam, just go find Dean. I think we’ll all feel better when we know that your brother’s okay.” Charlie says, hoping to ease some of the worry on Sam’s face. “I’ll keep your prisoner alive and help Kevin with the research.”

By eight a.m., Sam and Cas are heading southeast, the big Chevy chewing up the miles. Sam is driving, and he gives Castiel his cellphone. “Keep trying Missouri’s number, Cas.”

**. . . . . . .**

Missouri sees the big black car pull up outside of her house as she finishes tossing the salad and sets it on the table near fried chicken, potato salad, homemade biscuits, and a weeping cold pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade. She wipes her hands on the dish towels and takes off her apron, hanging it beside the back door before opening it to call Dean in. He had insisted on mowing and was just finishing up. “Dean? I’ve got lunch on the table, and your brother is here. Get on in and wash up.”

For fairness sake, Sam gets a scolding for not keeping in touch before he gets a hug from Missouri, but all Castiel gets is a puzzled frown. “Well, come in, but I’m not quite sure what to make of you,” the older woman says. “Real psychics, well, there just aren’t that many of us. We’re a community, and Pamela was my friend.” 

Castiel feels a familiar grip of guilt clench his heart. There is so much of his past that he regrets, and so many strong emotions he has to deal with now that he’s human. Apologizing for having blinded Pamela Barnes is just a tiny portion of that. But before Cas gets a chance to apologize, Dean walks into the room. He stands in the doorway looking between the two men in suits near Missouri.

One is extremely tall with chestnut hair and hazel eyes, the other just a little shorter than he is with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Both turn to stare at him, worry lines bringing their brows together. Dean feels panic rise from his chest to his throat. Ever since Missouri had told him his brother was coming to get him, Dean had been hoping things would be better as soon as he had a family again. That it would jog his memory, help him at least understand how he lost it to begin with. Now he realizes that it isn’t going to be that easy.

In a voice made more gruff with emotion, Dean says, “Umm, hello?” He pauses and finishes drying his hands.  “Well, this is awkward. I thought it would be easier, that I would know automatically, but….Which one of you is Sam, my brother?”


	5. Chapter 5

It hurts more than Sam could have foreseen, perhaps because Sam hadn’t stopped to think about it before he was here, standing in the front hall of Missouri’s house staring at Dean, his brother, mother, father, and partner in the family business, to have Dean staring back, not sure whether he or Castiel is related to him. Sam has been erased from Dean’s life.

With one glance, Sam can tell that this Dean is better adjusted and less haunted than usual.  He looks a little sunburned, and the clothes he’s wearing, while clean, are slightly large on him, making him appear smaller. Other than that, Dean looks good. He looks rested and relaxed. All their talk through the years of getting a chance to live a normal life was nothing but smoke. Standing in front of him is the real deal, and Sam has to admit that he hasn’t even looked at it from any direction except his own; he has only thought of his loss, not what Dean may have gained.

Sam’s knees buckle as he remembers he has to breathe, but it feels like someone has punched him in the gut. Dean and Cas catch hold of his arms before he falls. “Easy there, Tiger,” Dean says, the mother hen in him surfacing quickly, and Sam is laughing because that is part of who is brother is no matter what. And it’s familiar.

“Me, I’m Sam.” Chortling a little hysterically, Sam lets Dean help him over to a chair. He leans a little on his older brother, wondering what this guy would do if he hugged him.

“Damn, what the hell did I feed you growing up? You’re heavy. You okay there, Dude? Or Bro, I guess I should say. You look a little pale. Want something to drink?” Dean’s concerned look is making Sam giggle even more. Then Sam calms himself down, although his eyes well with tears. How many times has he resented Dean’s trying to take care of him? He had thought Dean was refusing to acknowledge that he had grown up, but here was a man – who didn’t even know who he was – just reacting to Sam’s needs by basic instinct.

Dean presses a glass of water into Sam’s hand, nonchalantly handing him a tissue too, and turning away to give him privacy to wipe away the tears that are running down his face. “Steady now,” Dean adds, giving him an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Castiel has drawn in on himself, shoulders hunched, head tilted, staring at Dean. Dean shoots some looks his way. Then he asks. “Dude, why are you staring at me like that?”

“This is a strange situation for you,” Cas answers. “And while I appreciate that what I am about to do will seem bizarre to you, it must be done.” He reaches inside his pocket pulling out a little plastic bottle about the size of a mouthwash sample. Opening it, he squirts Dean in the face. “Not demon.” He then takes a second bottle, and catches Dean’s arm as he begins to twist away, dumping a borax solution on him, “Nor Leviathan.” Dean is sputtering by then and Sam catches him before he punches Cas, holding his arm long enough for Cas make a small incision with a silver knife. “Not shapeshifter either.”

“What the actual fuck are you people doing?” Dean shouts, and then yelps as Missouri comes up from behind to smack him with a wooden spoon. “Damnit, Lady, not you too! What am I not from that?”

“Not minding your manners, that’s what,” Missouri grumbles. “Now all of you stop this nonsense and sit down at the table. I could have vouched for him. I can tell the real thing from a copy.” Missouri starts fixing their plates. “I want you all to eat this nice meal I made before one more bit of shop talk. You hear?” Her glare encompasses all three.

The chastised men mumble apologies, Dean looking even more confused, but they are all hungry and soon they’re engrossed in their plates. Missouri smiles. “Now you clean your plates ‘cause I made pie for dessert.” But the older woman fusses most over Sam, tutting about how’s he’s gotten too thin, heaping an extra-large portion on his plate.

“So…Sam, have you been sick? You didn’t seem to be doing so good when you first got here, and now it sounds like you’ve lost weight.” Dean pauses and looks at Missouri. “Is that okay table conversation? I don’t want to incur the wrath of the wooden spoon again while I am enjoying this fine meal you made.”

“Didn’t take long for you to find your sass again.” Missouri hides a smile.

Sam chuckles. “Yeah, sounds more like you, Dean. So, to answer your question, yeah, I’ve been pretty sick. That’s one reason I wasn’t with you this trip.” At a grumpy sound from Castiel next to him, Sam continues. “Not that anyone with you did anything wrong. Well, actually, I guess I did. I did the research and thought it was a werewolf.”

Dean lets his fork clatter. “This can not be an actual conversation I’m having.” He shakes his head, and then he looks over to Missouri. “Adopt me?”

“Don’t you be sweet talkin’ me and fluttering them pretty lashes, boy. You’re all grown up now. You don’t need a mamma.”

Dean does bat his eyes. “I’m not so sure about that, besides…I hear there’s pie.”

Missouri laughs and goes into the kitchen to get the dessert, saying she’ll put on a pot of coffee too. Dean watches her leave, and then he turns back to the table. “Right. Now you, Brother, explain what the hell you’re talking about, and why is that guy staring at me.” He says indicating Castiel, whose head is tilted again, blue eyes fixed on Dean’s face.

“Hmm, Castiel is your guardian angel, or was,” Sam starts, biting back a smile at Dean’s startled gasp. “He’s not an angel right now. As for staring, well, he always stares at you. He’s not exactly human, so you’ll have to make allowances. Castiel is learning to be human and a hunter from us. And he did raise you from perdition and get my soul back.”

“Did you hear that, Missouri?” Dean asks as she comes back into the room. “Am I nuts or are they?”

Missouri passes around plates piled with warm apple pie and scoops of vanilla ice cream. “Well, Sugar, you’ve lost your memory, not your mind, as far as I can tell. And these two, well, they both seem sane enough right now.”

“Hmmm,” Dean starts. “Maybe someone should start at the beginning and give me some idea of what you are talking about. Cause I gotta tell you, it’s sounding pretty crazy train to me.” He jumps up and starts gathering the now empty plates. Missouri takes them from his hands and motions him to sit back down, and he does. But he’s nervously picking at his pie.

Sam gives his brother a reassuring smile. “Eat your pie. Dean. It’s your favorite food. And the rest of it is a story we can save for the ride home. It’s not really safe for you to be out here without remembering what’s after you, or how to defend yourself. How about if we just fill you in on why you’re like this, and you tell us everything you remember.”

“Nothing to tell,” Dean says, pausing for a moment. “I woke up standing beside the interstate in North Texas yesterday. Don’t know who I am or how I got there. The only thing I seemed to remember is that Kansas is home.” He gets up to pace again.

“Well, you’re mostly right. Kansas is still home, but not here.” Sam’s amused by the pacing. Normally his brother hides these emotions behind a façade. Sam watches Dean’s movements like he’s at a tennis match. “We haven’t lived in Lawrence in thirty years, so it’s kind of odd that you fixated on here. The house we lived in here…”

“House fire, yeah. Got the back story. Mom died, I saved you, we left. So where’d we move?” Dean knows so little that he doesn’t have the patience to hear what he does know re-hashed.

Sam snorts. “Nowhere … everywhere. Dad went hunting the thing that killed her, with us in tow. Just packed us up into the car. We grew up in motel rooms across the country.”

Dean looks puzzled. “He went hunting fire?”

Castiel has heard enough. “Dean, none of this is as important as getting your memory returned; if we do that, you’ll know all this. If we don’t, we will have plenty of time to tell you about your childhood and your father’s quest to find the demon that killed your mother. You will just have to trust us for now. Trust us to undo the witch’s spell cast when you killed the Loup Garou.”

“Demon? Witch? Loup Garou?” His eyes grow even rounder. “And you’re an angel? And I’m supposed to believe this’s all true? I’m in Looney Toons land!”

Sam can’t help laughing, but there’s sadness in his eyes. He gets up and approaches his brother, stopping when he sees Dean start to look concerned to have the younger man looming over him. Sam hunches in a little. “Can you trust us, Dean? Your brother and your guardian angel?” Sam’s too earnest expression makes Dean think before giving a glib answer. He looks at Missouri with a question in his too-transparent eyes, and then swallows realizing he doesn’t know her either.

“Oh, Sugar, I can’t tell you what to do. I can tell you that you and your brother, you’re close. And Sam and Castiel, they’re your best hope for getting your memory back, and when you do I don’t want you to go seven more years without calling. You boys listening to me?”

The brothers answer her in chorus. “Well, if that’s settled, let me go get your clothes from the dryer. I’ll put them in the box with your daddy’s other things. Some are pictures…that might help with your memory. One I get this together, You all can get on your way before demons come poking around here looking for you.”

**. . . . . . .**

Crowley had stopped thinking of escaping. Ever since the night of the ritual in the old church, the night the Winchester boys had captured him, and Sam and then Abbadon almost killed him, Crowley hasn’t been quite himself. Feelings roiled inside, emotions like sorrow, guilt, and contrition. These things needed to be nipped in the bud before the King of Hell returned to his domain. So he waited. Bided his time just mildly harassing Sam.

The Moose was so soft he wouldn’t let his big brother interrogate the demon. Crowley thinks that’s fine with him; Dean Winchester earned his big reputation in his ten years as Alastair’s apprentice. He’d rather not be on the receiving end of that expensive education.

Some things, though, they are just too blatant to overlook, and the little red-headed dolly at the bunker – just too much of a novice for Crowley to not at least try to manipulate her. A man has needs, afterall.  But he has to be careful. That little punk prophet is still around, and Crowley wouldn’t put it past Kevin to be setting the demon up to have a good excuse to kill him.

Yes, he’s pretty sure he can talk Charlie into letting him stretch his legs some. Get out of the dungeon with its wardings. And once he’s on the move, who knows where he’ll stop.


	6. Chapter 6

“Whoa, Dude. Sweet car.” Dean’s tracing his hands over the shiny black 1967 Chevy Impala parked out front of Missouri’s house, a look of pure lust in his eyes. “Can I…can I look under the hood?” He pops her open even as he speaks without actually waiting for permission almost humming in pleasure.

Sam shakes his head slowly and tosses his brother the keys. “Might as well, she’s yours.” Sam chuffs out as he and Cas watch Dean become reacquainted with his car. But then Sam gets practical. “Maybe I should drive though. We’ve got a lot to talk about on the way back to the bunker and you might end up distracted.”

“Mine? Really? Damn how did I misplace this baby?” Dean is obviously torn as he hands the keys over, and then he throws the other two off by climbing into the back seat with the box from Missouri and where there’s a smaller box containing Dean’s favorite gun, knife, wallet, and cell phone. His shoebox of old music tapes is also back there, and Dean looks through them in delight. Finally, he holds up Led Zeppelin with a pleading look. “There’s some really great tunes in here. Can we put this in?”

Cas looks over his shoulder from the shotgun seat. “Dean, it is the tradition of the family that the driver chooses the music that we listen to during trips.”

Sam smiles, this whole situation have some funny moments. “No music. I’m serious that we need to talk. There’s too many monsters that could make you a victim if we don’t get you back up to speed. But until we do, I want you to know that I’m going to take care of you. It’s kind of my turn anyway.”

“Hmm, I want to believe you. But maybe we should talk about why my ID doesn’t say I am who you say I am?” With a puzzled expression, Dean holds up the driver’s license he took out of the wallet. “According to this, I’m Robert Plant, and I have FBI credentials and a credit card confirming it.”

“Well, we lie for a living, Dean.” Sam shakes his head as he realizes how basic some of the information Dean has forgotten is. How much he will need to reteach. “How about if we start with answering any questions you have?” Sam maneuvers the big car onto the highway heading west. It’s a straight shot for the next hour and a half. He’ll be able to concentrate on the conversation.

“’Kay, why don’t we start with why I’ve got a guardian angel who isn’t an angel? Or where exactly we’re going? Or why we lie for a living? And why we have monsters and demons after us? Just for starters….” Dean’s questions tumble out quickly. He’s heard a bunch of weird shit from these two, and he’d like to have some of it explained.

“May I begin the answers, Sam?” Cas asks deferentially; and when Sam nods, the dark-haired man takes a moment to order his thoughts. “I think it would be best to correct misassumptions, and then proceed chronologically. First, I am not actually your guardian angel, I am your friend, and I am – or was – a soldier of the lord, a Seraph and captain of the Earth garrison. I received orders to rescue you, the Righteous Man, from Hell. I led a group of angels and we fought our way to you where you were being held in the pit and tormented daily by Alastair himself, Hell’s Grand Torturer – one of the original demons. I lost many brothers in that fight, and our mission was doomed from the beginning. We were too late to stop it because we were all manipulated by powers that wanted to bring about the Apocalypse.”

Sam is listening closely; he has never heard the whole story, only parts and in piecemeal. Dean has never wanted to talk about it. He glances back to see his brother whose eyes growing are wide with amazement.

Castiel’s determined to make this next point stick. He wants his friend to finally be free of the guilt he assumed. “It was foretold in prophecy that the first seal on the cage that held Lucifer would break when the Righteous Man shed blood in Hell. Alastair spent thirty years meticulously determined to bring this about, inflicting you daily with agony beyond belief, using his most terrible and imaginative methods. We were not in time to save you that anguish. It was not your fault that you broke and became his apprentice.”

Dean gasps. “I did what? I became the apprentice to a demon torturer? In Hell? And…” He sputters to a halt. When he speaks again his voice is raised. “How freaking old am I? How long did I spend in Hell? And how did I get there anyway?” He rubs his hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. “I’m so fucking confused right now. You’re calling me the Righteous Man, but why would I be in Hell then? I just…” He gulps. “I just… I’m not sure I want to know any more. So, umm, just shut up. I don’t want to know this.”

All three men grow quiet as Dean tries to process what he has been told. Sam too is considering it, putting pieces into place and picking out other bits he thinks his brother needs to understand the big picture.

“Cas, let me take it from here for a bit. I think Dean needs the back story,” Sam says sotto voce to the angel while the man in the back seat is still stunned.

“Dean? You have to understand that we were all caught up in events that started long before we were even born. That Heaven’s forces pulled out all the stops to make sure that we were born, getting our parents together. And that Hell’s forces were involved too. Our mom made a demon deal years before either one of us was born that, well, that marked us – me. And, we stopped the Apocalypse, Dean.” Sam realizes that his explanation is choppy, but he wants his brother to know that no one is blaming him.

They hear Dean pull in a shaky breath. “Okay. Let’s try this again. Why was I in Hell?”

Sam nods, determined to help his brother through this. “I wish there were easy explanations, Dean. To answer that I need to explain that the demon Azazel was responsible for mom’s death – it wasn’t just some random fire. Dad devoted his life to exacting revenge, becoming a hunter of the supernatural. He taught us to do the same, but he was kind of an obsession bastard and he left you to do most of the raising of me.“

“Okay….” Dean interrupts. “How exactly is this relevant? Can’t one of you straight out tell me why I was in Hell to begin with? Am I…was I evil?”

“NO!” Sam clears his throat. “No, Dean, you’re not. You just…. Well, you’re self-sacrificing. You sold your soul to save me. I just. This is all so convoluted. I want to be fair about this, but I just…. You know what. It does all sound crazy. Maybe we should forget about it. Maybe you’re better off not knowing any of this.”

“Sam! You cannot leave your brother in ignorance. That will not be safe for him.” Castiel is angry and adamant. “And we both know him well enough to know that your brother would not wish to be kept safe in this manner.”

“I’ll look out for him until we find a way to get his memory back. I’ll keep him safe. It’s too much for him to take in all at once,” Sam objects. The two hunters start to argue with Cas trying to make Sam acknowledge that the two of them had histories of making the wrong choice to leave Dean out of things.

Dean raises his hand. “Excuse me, do I get a say in this?” But they both ignore him, intent of their struggle.

“Tell him, Sam, tell him everything. As much as you and I might want to give him a chance at peace and happiness, this will not work.” The shorter man is leaning toward Sam whose face is red with emotion.

The phone next to Dean starts ringing. He picks it up. “It says Charlie. Should I answer it?”

“Put it on speaker,” Sam says. “She wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

Charlie’s voice is strained and on the verge of hysteria. “He’s gone. They’re gone. Crowley and Kevin. I don’t know what to do. It’s my fault, but if I go after them how will you get in?”

Sam scoops up the phone. “Charlie? Calm down. Then tell us from the beginning. What happened and when did they leave?”

“Okay, okay. It’s…let me think. I’m okay now.” Charlie mutters over the phone. “It’s my fault…” Cas snorts. He still blames her for losing Dean too. “I don’t know why I listened to him. I mean King of Hell, right? Shoulda known I was playing above my level.”

“Charlie?” Sam’s voice is stern. “Just skip the blame and tell us what’s going on. We’re still an hour out.”

They hear her inhale. “I let Crowley out of the dungeon for a minute. It was all going okay. But then, he said he needed to…You know what? That doesn’t matter. I unlocked his manacles because…. Then he, Crowley, wouldn’t go back, and Kevin was going to kill him. And then somehow he was out the door, and Kevin grabbed the Colt and went after him.”

Sam groaned at the discombobulated account, and Cas snorted. “Okay,” Sam tries to sound encouraging. “Try to give me some specifics. When did they leave? Could you tell which way they went? Is Kevin on foot?”

Charlie’s voice grows a little stronger. “In order. This all just happened, right before I called you. Once he got past me and out the door, Crowley went poof. Kevin was really mad, and he grabbed the gun, and took my keys and left, But I don’t know where he was going. I was afraid to get too far away from the bunker in case I got locked out because then we would all be locked out. And I called you. So, what should I do, Sam?”

Sam rubs his head, trying to chase away the headache he feels coming on. “You just hang tight, Charlie. We’ll be there soon.”

**. . . . . . .**

“The King returns!” Crowley crows as he makes his reappearance in Hell.

Crowley is worried about returning, but he had no place else to go. And he had to try to escape, right? It’s required of people being held captive. He’s feeling weak, and partially human again, hampered by emotions and feelings of guilt. If he had thought things over a bit more, he may have waited to return.

“Well, well, well.” Abaddon drawls lazily. “Look what the cat dragged in. It’s the little jumped-up salesman.”

Crowley freezes in place as his brain sorts through everything he knows of this Knight of Hell. “What are…what are you doing here?” He’s trying to sound commanding, but his throat is tight with worry.

The tall woman who Crowley thought dead at the hands of Sam Winchester gives a ladylike snort. “Oh, no. You’re the one with the explaining to do.” Her minions surround Crowley, and he realizes what a strategic error he has made.

The powerful demon who had gone missing for fifty years circles the former crossroads demon, her eyes locked on him. “Imagine my surprise at finding my liege Lilith gone. At hearing that Azazel and Alastair are no more. That you helped those Winchesters as Ruby and Meg died, and our lord Lucifer – once freed -- was once again confined to a cage. And now angels walk the earth. Angels like the one I’m told you partnered with and who is a friend to the humans who held you captive.”

Abbadon turns to her followers. “Take him to the pit. I’ll get straight answers from him, and we will soon end this problem of the Winchester brothers.”


	7. Chapter 7

The Cicadas were buzzing outside the bunker as Sam pulled the big black car up near the door. He and Castiel jump out, still hashing over priorities like they have been doing since Charlie called to tell them about Crowley’s escape. Dean gets out more slowly, clutching the box from Missouri, looking a little lost and a lot wary. In his mind, this box contains all his worldly possessions. Living with amnesia for two days has been difficult for him, at first not knowing where he belonged or who he was, but now – now he is having a hard time trying to process what Sam and Castiel told him.

“We live here?” Dean asks softly, glancing around outside, concerned with how not-homelike the MoL bunker is. It’s a citadel built mostly underground. Something inside Dean shrivels – would it have been too much to ask that his life included a snug cottage, maybe a picket fence, some peace and happiness? A family who would wrap him in their arms and say they missed him? He had thought maybe he was a mechanic, or a handyman. Instead, he lives in a “bunker”? Could it sound more like his life is embroiled in war?

And these two guys, his brother – a huge guy who looks skeleton-thin and sickly– and his guardian angel who isn’t his guardian or an angel, these guys have him more confused than he was when he didn’t know jack squat. They’ve been arguing about prioritizing and demons and hell and heaven, and Dean lost track a while back. They disappear into the door without glancing backwards.

Dean stands outside in the gathering dark, breathing deeply. A small red-haired woman climbs the steps and advances on him like you might a skittish stray dog that showed up on your doorstep. “Oh, Dean, I was so worried,” she half scolds as she tries to hug him, stymied by the box. “I’m so glad they found you.” She tugs at his arm, pulling him toward the bunker. “Come on, we need to get inside. Oh, I bet you don’t remember me. I’m Charlie.”

Dean clears his throat. “So, hi. I’m Dean.” He tries out the name uncertainly. “Ummm, Are we, like…?”

Charlie laughs and it lights her face and makes Dean feel a little bit better. “No way! Not that you’re not an attractive guy or anything, but …. No! I’m a lesbian. But we are friends, and you’re the guy teaching me how to be a hunter.” Charlie trails off. But she rubs her hands over both his arms sympathetically. “This is really freaking you out, isn’t it? I don’t blame you. It’s weird finding this stuff out the first time. Come on – you’ll feel better once you get home.”

About then, Sam rushes back out, taking the steps up in two bounds. “Man, I’m so sorry, Dean. I forgot that you didn’t remember.” He grabs the box. “Here. I’ll carry this. Let’s get you to your room, okay. You can get settled in again. Get a shower before dinner.” Sam drapes one of his arms around his brother. “It’ll be okay. It…I’ll make sure of it. Okay?”

With the two of them encouraging him, Dean gets moving again. He notices all the strange symbols and writing around the door and on the floor, wondering if this is some kind of religious thing. Afterall, there’s been a lot of talk about angels and demons, heaven, hell, and a prophet. Maybe this is like the cult headquarters.

The two walk him through the bunker’s library and up the steps to his room. Charlie catching up after she stops long enough to lock up the bunker. Sam pushes open the door to a bedroom and then places the box on Dean’s bed. He makes a tiny ta-da movement with his hand; his eyes watching his brother carefully. This room, the first Dean had of his own since he was four, is Dean’s pride. Sam had been amused when Dean made a big deal of it, and his own room was nowhere near as individualized.

From the memory foam mattress to the weapons on the wall, Dean had carefully turned this room into something of his own. Sam watched now as his brother who is a stranger inside his own body takes in the weapons on the wall, the sparseness of comfort and color, and with shaking legs sinks down to sit on the side of the bed. “Holy shit. I’m a serial killer, aren’t I?”

Sam doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry; but the look on his older brother’s face is so stricken that it is almost funny. He feels a sharp pain hit him right in the heart, and wants to defend his absent brother to this person wearing his brother’s body, until he remembers this is just Dean, slate wiped clean. Sam hasn’t had many chances to take care of Dean in his life, and he has a protective streak in him that he doesn’t get to use much. It seems to him that most of the time when he tries to save Dean things backfire and he ends up needing his brother to save him again.  He vows to himself, not this time.

“Charlie, could you, ummm, give us a minute. Maybe you and Cas could get some sandwiches together, or soup. I’ll be out in a minute. I just haven’t had any time with…” And he waves his hand at Dean. “You know, with my brother.”

Charlie nods to Sam, and then she pats Dean on the shoulder as she leaves, pausing just long enough to say, “You’re not, you know, not some weirdo psychopath. You’re one of the good guys.”

Sam sits next to Dean on the edge of the bed and nudges him gently. “We’re going to fix this Dean. And you’re gonna be okay. Trust me, okay?”

Dean slowly raises green eyes and stares intently into Sam’s face, staring searchingly. Sam wishes he could read his brother’s expressions, hopes Dean can read the sincerity in his own. Then he pulls his brother into his side tightly with a one-armed hug and kisses his temple. “Brother means something special to me because it means family. You taught me that – that family comes first. So, okay?” Sam pulls him into a bear hug, relieved to have Dean found and at least physically safe.

“So we’re huggy?” Dean asks, sounding a little muffled and breathless from inside Sam’s embrace. “Kinda didn’t expect that.”

Sam laughs a little, knowing Dean will get him back later, but not caring right now. “All the time, you know, because we have dangerous lives and could lose each other any day. It’s almost embarrassing how much we hug each other.” He thumps his big brother on the back and grins as he releases him. “And all our friends, too. If you don’t hug them, they’re gonna think something’s wrong.”

Sam sighs. “Anyway, bro, I need you to come on out with us. I know you don’t remember anything, but I’m willing to bet your mind can still sort information and strategize with the best of them. I need your help coming up with a plan, or at least deciding what parts of it have to be done before the others. So, take your shower and come on out, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, ummm, Sam.” Dean lifts his head and squares his shoulders. “I’ll try my best and try not to be too much of a burden.”

**. . . . . . .**

Abaddon releases Crowley’s chin and steps away, letting his head loll forward between arms that are chained to the ceiling. He’ll live, for now, but she’s concerned about what she learned when she forced some of her essence inside him and then breathed it back into herself. Much has changed in Hell since she time traveled after Henry Winchester, her homecoming dimmed from all the failures. To her it had been a few weeks. To the world, it had been more than fifty years. To Hell, it was time that has led to ruin.

Coming back to find that Hell was being run by a crossroads demon was more than she could comprehend, until she had taken the smaller man’s memories. Now she had much to do and no clear allies to work with; she is the last Knight of Hell, the last of the first demons – most killed by archangels, but Lilith, Alastair, and Azazel were all destroyed by the Winchesters, according to Crowley’s memories. And those two Winchesters had defeated the Seven Deadly Sins, Samhain, and the Horsemen, too. Obviously there was more to them than it had seemed.

Abaddon ponders what she has learned. She will need the Winchesters as vessels for Lucifer and Michael when she opens the cage. Or at the very least, she will get the younger one, Sam, to accept that he is a prince of Hell – and his brother is, ironically, her old friend Alastair’s best apprentice, better even than Meg. Imagine Crowley trying to run Hell, and be its Grand Torturer. Were there no suitable replacements?

First, though, she will need to pry the pair from the Men of Letters’ bunker, whose location she now knows thanks to Crowley’s escape; and she’ll need a way to determine if this new generation of untrained Men of Letters even knows that the bunker holds the answers to how to unlock her lord’s cage and to right what Metatron did to heaven. She’s sure Michael will be agreeable to a deal now with his soldiers wandering the earth. Cut off from their heavenly power source.

“I need to prioritize.” Abaddon tells herself. “Get a strategy in place to set things to right. And it looks like I might need to enlist the new Men of Letters in this effort.” She considers. “Well, we know the older one, Dean, does not know anything useful right now. Nothing useful to me, or himself, until after we settle with the coven in Baton Rogue, but his memory loss gives me a strategic advantage in capturing him.” She calls in five foot soldiers and dispatches them to Louisiana with orders to capture, not kill.

Abaddon is also concerned to have learned that the earth may still have some of Purgatory’s worst monsters on it. It would take beings as ignorant as Crowley and the Winchester’s pet seraph to help bring that catastrophe about. Leviathan, bah. They seemed to have taken to lying low at least, but there was another mess that would need to be addressed. Learning more about Purgatory will be useful, and that’s another area Dean Winchester will be helpful.

“Even the Father knew the Leviathan were a mistake,” Abaddon mutters, tapping one of Josie Strands shiny red nails on her teeth absently. Her stolen memories reminding her that these Winchesters were also responsible for sending Eve back to her domain in the monster afterlife. That makes the Mother of Monsters a possible ally in her reckoning.

First, though, to gather some of the demons that knew the Winchesters in life – Bela, Ava, Jake, and Max. That will be a good start.


	8. Chapter 8

The water temperature stays steadily hot but not scalding and the pressure remains constant, beating at the muscles in Dean’s neck and back, relieving tension and making him decide maybe the bunker isn’t all bad. Two days of uncertainty sluice down the drain as he considers what he has learned and what options he has. Because as memory-challenged as he may be, Dean has choices, stay with this group and commit to recalling his past, becoming the supernatural hunter they say he is, or leave – go get a normal job and live a normal life. But whichever he chooses, he knows he has to be all in. He knows that he would never be content with half-measures. He turns and lifts his face into the shower spray.

After his shower, Dean roots around through “his” room, finding track pants and a tee shirt to pull on along with clean socks. He finger combs his hair flat before heading downstairs, following the sound of people arguing and the smell and tell-tale smoke of burnt food.

“But if we are cooking something, it makes more sense to have the heat as high as possible.” Cas sounds strained, like he is keeping a considerable temper barely contained. “If you would just listen to me occasionally…” Charlie says, interrupted by Sam, “Make way, I need to get to the sink…” followed by a sizzling sound. Dean’s pretty sure he’s hearing the sound of three supposedly competent people ruining a simple meal of soup and sandwiches, and he knows he’s going to go in there, kick them all out, and make something edible because, damn it, he’s hungry.

“I think this is a classic representation of too many cooks in the kitchen,” Dean drawls from where he is leaning a hip against the door frame. “And I think I can whip something edible together without your help.  So why don’t you three get out. I’ll let you in afterwards to clean up the mess.”

Sam spins around and takes in this civilian-looking Dean with his brother’s smirk and a bit of his snark. “Well, thank God!” Sam says. “If you were gone much longer we might have had to actually learn how to cook.” He grins before gladly relinquishing the spatula and potholder to his brother, remembering to give him a one-armed hug as he files past, pausing on the other side to watch.

“It’s different than just cooking for one,” Charlie mutters, accepting her hug as she leaves the kitchen. Castiel is still puttering around, scraping burnt cheese from a griddle into a trash can.

“You too, umm, Castiel,” Dean says good-naturedly, walking toward him prepared to hug. Cas stands stiffly for a moment as Dean pulls him into a one-armed guy hug, and then he awkwardly thumps Dean’s back twice, glaring at Sam who is shaking in silent laughter as he turns to leave. Castiel decides he’ll confront Sam later.

“I would prefer to stay, Dean. Now that my vessel requires food, I need to learn how to prepare it. Also, we rely very heavily on you – unfairly so at times. So I will stay here and watch as you cook. If you don’t mind.” Castiel has his head tilted staring at Dean.

“I’ll teach ya to cook, as long as you stop with the staring, Dude, but not right now when we’ve got hungry people waiting.” Dean’s rejoinder surprises Cas who stands quietly watching as his friend collects the ingredients and starts sausage, potatoes, onions, and peppers in frying pans, turns on the oven, and begins to whip eggs in a mixing bowl. There’s no bread left, so Dean jots that on a list he sees attached to the refrigerator, noting the rest of the note is also in his handwriting, and pops biscuits in the oven.

“So, angel,” Dean begins. “I’m told I’m one of the good guys. Then - why was I in Perdition instead of Paradise?”

Castiel nods his head, considers correcting Dean about his current non-angelic status, but decides against it. “You’ve been in Paradise as well, Dean, and Purgatory.” Dean’s eyebrows lift, but Cas cuts off questions. “You had to fulfill a prophecy. That’s why you were in Hell. I understand that now, but at the time I just thought I had failed to raise you from the pit on time. Additionally, I think you needed to learn not to make deals with demons.”

Thinking back over the day, Castiel comes up with other areas Dean deserves an answer. “You asked earlier, so you should know time runs differently in the other planes, completely at the hands of whoever is controlling it at the time, much like dreams. You’re, or I should say your body is 35.”

Dean nods, and then he turns the conversation back to his primary concern. “I was in Heaven? In Paradise? Was this before or after my demon deal? And why did I leave there?”

Castiel snorts. “You went to Heaven after the demon deal, after Hell, but you didn’t like Heaven. You called it ‘Memorex.’” Cas makes quote fingers. “I am not sure what that means. However our father intervened and had you returned.”

“Damn, I’m hard to please, huh? So what was the deal with Purgatory? Was I just trying them all out?” Dean laughs, and Castiel notices how easily mirth sits on his friend now that he is not burdened by his past. Eyes still sparkling, Dean shoots another question at Castiel as he moves around the kitchen skillfully cooking.

“You and I were sent to the monster afterlife when we destroyed the head Leviathan.” Cas answers. “We were trapped there for a time. But, no, that is not your ultimate goal either – you are not a monster. You have been promised a place in Paradise forever when your time here is done. Does that ease your mind?”

“Hmm, I guess, as much as anything I’m learning makes sense.” As Dean finishes cooking, he finds plates in the cabinet and opens drawers until he finds the silverware. He hands them to the angel and motions toward the table. “Get the others,” he orders. Slightly over twenty minutes after he started, Dean has a piping hot meal ready and on the table. In just ten minutes, it’s gone.

Sam wipes his mouth on a napkin as he pushes back from the table. Dean has become a damned good cook, but Sam has been thinking - probably over-thinking, he admits – about how easily his brother is falling back into a caretaker role; and Sam doesn’t like what it says about him. He has spent years letting Dean think that it’s his responsibility to watch after him, put Sam’s needs first, and buy into bullshit about birth order. Sam knows he has an opportunity – one that after the fiasco of trying to close Hell he thought he may never get again. He can’t let himself become the damsel again, and Dean deserves to put himself first for a change.

Sam watches Dean, this Dean untainted by guilt and sorrow man, interact with Charlie and Castiel. He’s relaxed, funny, comfortable, and not even drinking. Dean has always had charisma and surety, so it’s been easy to pretend that he doesn’t know that it’s a front. His brother is every bit as broken as he is, just better at hiding it. And Sam has to admit, he has let Dean hide his pain because he was too wrapped up in his own. No more. Sam intends to get it right this time. First though, he needs to get this group motivated and organized. They have work to do.

**. . . . . . .**

That June day had been hot and humid in Kansas, temperatures across the state reaching into the triple digits; Kevin was glad he took Charlie’s yellow Gremlin when he left. It has a decent functioning air conditioner. He had to admit defeat after only a few hours of driving; he wasn’t going to catch up with the king of hell. It’s not like Crowley was restricted to travel by mundane means. But Kevin wasn’t ready to head back to the bunker or answer the phone until the after the sun was down.

“Damn Charlie for being an idiot. Damn Sam, too, for keeping that sonofabitch Crowley alive.” Kevin’s not sure if he could actually murder someone, but he thinks if he could it would be that smarmy demon that killed his mother.

To the west, Kevin sees a wall of clouds forming as the sky begins to turn a sickly greenish color. “Damn, I better hurry if I’m gonna miss the storm.” He mutters as he turns north onto the highway that will lead him back to Lebanon, Kansas, and the Men of Letters bunker, wondering again if it was Smith County’s location as the geographical center of the 48 contiguous states that made the secret society choose such a rural setting for their headquarters.

Bored, Kevin reaches for his phone and presses the recall button on the latest missed call from Sam. It’s a short call; just long enough for Kevin to tell him he’s on his way back, ETA 15 minutes and to tell Sam to make sure all the windows are up in the Impala. “You might want to park her on the northwest side of the bunker,” Kevin adds. “Storm’s coming and it looks pretty nasty.” But then Kevin needs to start paying attention to the road. The wind is really picking up and dirt and debris is starting to blow with it.

Just a few miles from the bunker, Kevin sees a man trudging along on the side of the road, and decides he’ll see if the guy needs help – the population in this part of the Midwest is sparse enough that drivers routinely wave to other cars on the road. He promises himself he won’t be stupid about it. The wall cloud has been moving steadily closer, tendrils occasionally trailing down, and Kevin is really worried now that it’s a possible tornado formation. He pulls slightly ahead of the man on the road and reaches across to roll down the window.

“Hey, mister, you need a lift?” Kevin calls out, and when the guy nods and opens the door to fold himself into the car, Kevin mutters “Christo.”

“No, Kevin... Inias. The man answers. “I’ve been looking for you ever since all the angels were thrown to earth. I’m lucky to have found you.”

Kevin’s mouth gapes open. “Inias? The angel Inias? Last time I saw you…” Kevin thinks back. Inias was with Hester, but he wasn’t one of the angels who took him back to his mother’s house only to be killed by the Leviathan Edward. “So, you were in heaven when Metatron shut it down?”

Inias sighs and runs his hand over a dirty and sunburned face. “I am thirsty, hot, dirty, and my feet hurt. I’m not … I’m not used to this.” The angel sounds disgusted with himself. “And yes, I had the horrible honor of having my wings burn off as I plummeted to the earth. Thanks for the reminder.”

Kevin chokes back a gasp. “I, uh, yeah. I got nothing, but there’s some bottled water on the floor board behind you.” Kevin tells him. “It’s cool enough. Probably.”

The former angel grabs a water bottle and drinks about half in two gulps. “Just tell me, please, that you know where the Winchesters are because they are probably the only hope we have to find a way to gather heaven’s forces and take back heaven.”

Kevin pulls the Gremlin next to the Impala. He’s puzzling over the angel expecting to get help from them. As far as Kevin can tell, they’ve got a de-powered angel; a sickly former mental patient, an amnesiac, and a half-trained hunter slash hacker, and him – a prophet of the Lord ready to read tablets that don’t do any good. And, oh yeah, they just let the King of Hell loose, so now he knows where the bunker is. Somehow, Kevin just doesn’t think they are going to manage to be much help to the evicted angels; in fact, it would have been nice to have some angel allies when they had power.

How much worse could it possibly get? Kevin wonders.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean has been the North Star in Sam’s life, his constant, even in the time he was away at Stanford, Sam knew if he needed Dean, all he had to do was pick up the phone. He didn’t because Sam can be as big a stubborn pain in the ass as his big brother. No…more so….like their dad, he admits in the privacy of his own mind.

This guy is Dean without Sam - without hellfire, purgatory, or demons, without John or Bobby or more than thirty years of living on the edge. Sam remembers shapeshifter Dean, and he has read about Demon Dean and even lost in a Djinn dream Dean in Chuck’s books. There’s even part of him who remembers Vampire Dean, although Sam doesn’t like to think about the things he did when he was soulless. This is Dean, but it isn’t. The difference makes Sam feel like when Dean was dead, and he doesn’t like that at all. Because Dean isn’t dead. He’s sitting right there, bright green eyes in a handsome face that looks younger and softer. Unguarded. Completely unavailable to offer advice or even take part in the types of issues Sam’s facing.

It’s not that Sam doesn’t like this guy. Seriously, what’s not to like. He’s kind, funny, a good cook, gentler than his brash brother, not hesitant about asking questions, his intelligence shines out – not hidden or sly like his Dean’s is. He’s relaxed; he laughs and smiles more than Sam thinks he has seen Dean do since … forever. Yeah, Sam could really learn to like this guy, if he were still in college or working in the civilian world, and something inside him twists like it’s ripping through his guts, because as nice as this guy is, he’s not the guy Sam wants here. And he’s not a guy who can live in his brother’s life – in Sam’s life either. This guy would be canon fodder in their war. He is a walking victim with a great big target on his back because Dean has too many enemies to go through life without being the honed weapon he has become.

This guy has part of the price Dean has paid for the world – his innocence --  and he takes it lightly. It is so unfair, Sam swallows down tears. And Sam, who is way off his game, still so tired and sick from the trials, has to pull it together enough to keep this guy safe or he’ll never get his brother back.

Sam realizes that he must have been zoning out when Charlie shakes his shoulder. “What? Ummm, sorry. What?” The younger Winchester comes to and notes the concerned looks from Castiel and Charlie. Even this new Dean - who looks more familiar, more like his Dean, with a worried furrow in his forehead – is staring at him.

“I said the weather service says Smith County is under a Tornado Watch,” Charlie says, like she has said this more than once already.

“And we still need to prioritize our objectives,” Castiel chimes in.

“No. No, we really don’t,” Sam answers. “Priority number one is obvious. We have to find a way to reverse this spell with Dean.” When he sees Cas prepare to argue, Sam interrupts. “Cas, Dean won’t just not be able to help, he’ll be a liability if we leave him this way. He can’t help us or protect himself from anything this way.”

Cas closes his mouth. He had been ready to bring up reasons the angels’ plight should be the main priority, but he stops and cants his head at Dean, really looking. He can see what Sam means now that he thinks about it, remembers a time his friend had said that Cas was a baby in a trench coat without his power. Cas has become more than that, but only by relying heavily on Dean, and this guy….Sam’s right, this isn’t Dean.

“Dude? The staring…” Dean objects.

 

**. . . . . . .**

North Central Kansas with its windswept prairies sits resolutely in Tornado Alley, and while the weather service predicted 2013 was going to be a mild year, the people of the state endured more than twenty confirmed tornadoes in May, mostly little ones, but certainly nothing to scoff at. June hasn’t had as many, but tornado season isn’t over until the end of August. The bunker was built to withstand the worst that could be thrown at it, and when Kevin rushes in with Inias warning of a funnel cloud, with a few flicks of toggles the windows are covered.

Power at the bunker has never been a problem, and Sam turns on a radio station to hear the familiar screeching of weather alerts. With nothing else that can be done until the weather passes, the eyes of the bunker inhabitants turn toward Kevin and the angel at his side.

The look from Sam, Cas, and Charlie is one assessing the threat. The scene Kevin has interrupted is surprisingly academic.

After Sam had decreed restoring Dean’s memory the group’s number one priority, they had gotten to work. Charlie and Sam are sitting at the library table researching on their laptops, yellow legal pads nearby for notes. Castiel is at the end of the table paging through a large old French grimoires as big as an Oxford English Dictionary. Dean is stretched out on an old couch Dean had dragged into the library a few months ago holding an Edlund Carver Supernatural book with the rest on a stack next to him.

Sam thought he could try to jog Dean’s memories by going over the plots. It has been disconcerting to see his brother’s brow furrow as he asked questions. “So we were raised to do this, but you didn’t want to?” Dean had asked uncertainly. When Sam had nodded, Dean continued. “And, I’m a jerk?” Sam cleared his throat.

“Frequently.”

Castiel straightened when Kevin and Inias cam further into the rooms. “Inias?”

Sam stands up, frowning as he places himself in front of the angel with Kevin; his scowl includes them both. “Want to explain, Kevin?” The younger man knows Sam wants an explanation for running off as well as an explanation for turning back up with one of the fallen angels at their secret bunker. Hard to keep things secret if you invite people in. Hard to keep his brother safe if Kevin brings home possible enemies.

The prophet explains. “Him I found alongside the road, really, with a storm coming.” He shrugs his shoulders like what was he supposed to do. “I was already on my way back, so I brought him with me. I left because I just needed some cooling off time after Charlie let Crowley escape. Now that Crowley knows, this location isn’t a secret anyway.” Kevin’s voice is thick with emotion. “You should have let me kill that S.O.B. when I wanted to. He’s the demon that killed my mother.” Then he remembers why Cas and Sam were gone, and he walks toward Dean, who has stood up.

“You must be Kevin,” Dean says reaching out to a surprised Kevin to pull him in for a hug. Sam’s lips twitch at the corners. Kevin lets himself be hugged, and then he pulls back a little to look Dean in the eye. Whatever he sees there – or doesn’t see that he expected -- makes him shake his head and slump into one of the chairs.

“You, I don’t know.” Dean says to Inias. “But in fairness, I don’t really even know myself right now. So?” He lifts his eyebrows waiting for someone to make introductions.

“This is one of my brethren, Inias, an angel.” Castiel wipes his hand on his jeans nervously. “Welcome, brother. How did you find us?” Castiel stills himself visibly, trying not to fidget. “Inias…I…”

“Was tricked by Metatron?” Inias asks. “Yes, brother, we know. We heard your grace scream as he cut it from you. We don’t know how, but he used it to throw all of us from heaven to this plane. We grow weak here, cut off and fading. A few have gone mad. But some of us are trying to mount a counter-offensive. I still have a sense of the prophet that I followed, and I hoped he would lead me to the tablets and the Winchesters.”

With only the background noise of the storm to break the silence of the room, Inias moves closer to Castiel. He reaches both arms out to clasp forearms with Cas. “Brother – I am sorry I did not step up to help you before this. Even before our fall, you were struggling.”

Castiel sighs. “No. I’m sorry that I was so naïve…” He glances at Dean, worry and concern shining from his eyes, then he looks back at Inias considering.

“Another angel?” Charlie interrupts. She’s excited because by the time she met Castiel, he wasn’t anything like she had expected an angel to be. He had no grace, no powers, was grumpy, tired, and utterly clueless about some pretty basic human needs. Not to mention, wings and halo would have been more how she pictured a celestial being. Charlie knows her disappointment shone through, and it put her relationship with Castiel – well, it was like adding vinegar to milk. And since the brothers had told her all the angels fell to earth, she had wanted to meet one. “Hey, Inias. I’m Charlie. I guess you know everyone else.”

Dean was scratching the back of his head. “He might know me, but… Hmm, you’re going to be disappointed, angel.” He says with a voice a little growly from disuse. “I can’t be much help to anyone right now, and these guys…” He motions around the room. “Are on the case of helping me recover my memories. I guess you need to take a number.”


	10. Chapter 10

Hell’s minions have to wait out the storm.

Of the four demons waiting at an all-night diner in Lebanon, Kansas, three are new at being topside, but all four hold memories of past encounters with the Winchesters; that’s why Abaddon sent Bela, Ava, Jake, and Max to make contact, the older demon’s strange powers allowing them to take the forms they had when they were alive.

Abaddon had found several of Azazel’s special children in Hell, and she was pleased to find offspring of one of the first demons. They are like family to her, nieces and nephews, and they are far stronger than most of the denizens of perdition she has encountered. In the fifty-something years her time travel had devoured, Hell had become almost foreign to Abaddon. Most of the strongest demons are dead, and she keeps hearing that it is due to the Winchesters. Abaddon, though, chooses to blame Crowley, knowing he allied with the hunters and even with an angel.

Bela, though, is not one of the special children. She has earned her way into recognition in Hell quickly under Crowley, receiving this trip through her merits in negotiating skills as a cross roads demon and by intricate knowledge of hunters. She has been a demon longer than the other three, and she is in charge of this excursion.

Ava and Jake, as new demons, came to terms with each other pretty easily, considering Jake had been the one to kill Ava at Cold Oak back when Azazel was still testing his special children. Sam had killed Jake at the Devil’s Gate, but Jake figures that was fair. He had killed Sam first with a knife to the back. The final demon, Max, was the weakest, and he had no one to blame for his death but himself; he had shot himself in the head even though Dean and Sam were trying to help him cope with the strange powers being one of Azazel’s special children had brought him.

Bela’s instructions are to open negotiations, if necessary to capture, but not kill, one of the brothers for leverage. She is going over how to accomplish this in her head while she drinks her coffee, surprisingly good for such a hole-in-the-wall place in the middle of the nowhere. Bela chuckles to herself finding it amusing that she is looking forward to seeing the Winchesters again and testing her wits against them once more.

Tornados don’t generally stay on the ground long, but the storm that followed carried heavy rain and high winds, battering the small town of Lebanon. Fortunately, though, the tornado hadn’t done any damage to occupied buildings, nor had it knocked out power lines, although power flickered occasionally. A few of the scarce trees were down, blocking roads until the crews could managed to remove them.  

The few townspeople out that evening are in the diner. One shot wondering looks at the strangers, strangers in a town that rarely saw any, wondering why these people were in such an out-of-the-way location.

 The older man, the town clerk, gets a coffee refill from the waitress and watches these four young people, wondering if they have anything to do with the group living in the bunker on the outskirts of town. Some strange religious group, he thinks, but since the organization has some kind of trust keeping up the taxes it doesn’t seem like any business of his. The guys and one gal living there keep a low profile. They’re polite when they shop, frequently walking into town instead of driving that big black car.

Gives the town something to talk about though, the comings and goings of young people where most of the younger generation has moved on. Makes him feel a little protective too.

“Huh,” the clerk muses to himself. He makes a snap decision and texts his cousin, the Smith County Sheriff. Robert might like to know there’s a group of strangers at the diner. He might need to check on that group in the bunker too.

**. . . . . . .**

“Take a number…” still rings through the library as Sam bites the inside of his cheek. It figures even a past-wiped-clean Dean would mouth off to an angel. But Sam notices something else different. His amnesiac brother deems himself worthy of help. It’s nice to see even that kernel of self-respect in his brother. Sam knows his brother has been on the brink of despair for far too long. He even told Sam before the trials started that he never expected a happy ending for himself.

Sam speaks up to support this show of self-worth. “Dean’s right, Inias, Castiel. We are better, stronger, with Dean as himself. He’s vulnerable this way. We’ll be in better shape to help you if we take care of Dean first.”

Castiel stills, appears to think it over and casts a worried eye toward the other angel. “Inias, this is true. When Dean’s memories are recovered we will be a stronger team. Perhaps Kevin can help Inias settle in for the night,” the dark-haired man suggests. “He will need food and rest.” Kevin agrees and leads Inias towards the sleeping area.

Inias frowns, but allows himself to be pulled away.

Charlie watches them go, and then she turns back to the group. Her whole world had changed when the Winchesters entered it, but she’s still surprised when things end up so different in reality than what she had supposed. She’s just glad that she has skills that help this small group. And she turns back to the computer with its terrible connection on this stormy night.

“So, what do we know?” Dean asks. “Who’s found something about this spell? How do we shovel my memories back into my melon?” He almost sounds like his old self, an assured hunter and the de facto leader of the small group.

“Get this,” Sam starts. “The backlash spell from killing a Loup Garou is supposed to take out the person who ganks the Loup Garou. My bet is your mojo bag warped the spell and you got wiped, like a computer hard drive.” Watching expressions flit across his brother’s face, Sam almost laughs out loud. “But there’s good news, Dean.”

“And what’s that?”

“Since it didn’t kill you, the spell probably is a limited time spell like the curse that turned that guy into a Loup Garou! According to my research, that’s usually 101 days.” Sam is pretty excited over this information, because that means – even if they don’t find a cure - Dean will be fine in 98 days.

Castiel says he has been reading about possible cleansing ceremonies. “Even if they aren’t effective, there should not be any unwanted side effects.” He shuffles through some of his notes. “The easiest one is smudging with sage. We have some in the store room.”

Charlie clears her throat. “I like the idea of waiting or trying a cleansing better than what I found. It says here the spell would be released if the witch is killed, but doesn’t that seem extreme guys? I mean, it’s not like the witch killed you, or even the guy she turned into a Loup Garou.” Her voice is hesitant. “Right, guys? We don’t need to kill her, do we?”

The library grows quiet as the people there consider the options. Sam wonders if they can afford to wait more than three months for Dean’s memory. He decides they can’t.

“Cas, I need more options for cleansing or breaking spells.” Sam sounds more assured than he has since the disastrous final trial to close Hell. “Charlie, we don’t want to kill the witch if we don’t have to; but remember, the only reason Dean is not dead is because he had a mojo bag. Plus, it was the witch’s fault that the guy she turned into a werewolf was killing people. That’s why you guys went to check it out, right?”

The younger Winchester sees his friend worriedly biting her lip. “Tell you what, Charlie; I’ve got a contact number for a friend who’s a witch. You track James down so we can talk to him. Maybe the community can find out who the witch is and get her to undo the spell.” When he sees she looks relieved, he tells himself that if nothing else, James will be able to find the witch, and Sam vows to himself he’ll take her out himself, leaving the new hunter out of it. Then he shakes his head a little, it’s hard to believe how far he is willing to go for his brother.

Speaking of… Dean has been standing there with his head cocked taking in the information. He’s already on the third book of the series, but what he knows of their life is like fiction to him right now. He’s not weak though, even now, and Sam is not surprised to find himself skewered by a glare from the green eyes.

“Alright, Sam. What’s my assignment…since this is about me. I’m not some helpless damsel, no offenses Charlie…”

“None taken,” she chuckles.

Sam bites his lip. Dean might not be a damsel, but he is currently their least experienced hunter. Sam suspects, though, that Dean will not want to hear that. As he sucks in air, getting ready for an argument, he’s spared answering by loud knocking on the door of the bunker. Sam motions for Castiel to follow him as he heads towards the door.

“You folks okay in there?” The man standing at the door is dressed in the uniform of the county sheriff. “We’ve been out assessing damage from the storm. Thought we’d check on you.”

Sam clears his throat. He doesn’t really know why it surprises him that the local people might notice the comings and goings at the bunker, but he really hadn’t given it much thought. The Winchesters hadn’t ever tried to put down roots as hunters before. Sam starts to worry about a dozen different things at once, wondering what other aspects of having a home base they had overlooked. Having the sheriff turn up “just checking” is so far out of the Winchester norms that it really hadn’t occurred to him that it was a possibility. “Umm, Thank you Sheriff. We’re fine here, no damage.” Sam says, happy to find that his voice is steady. “Anybody in town get hurt? Do you need volunteers?”

The Sheriff is taking in the man in front of him, tall, lean, but looks coiled. The dark haired man standing behind him stands like a soldier, ready to react if needed. He wonders where the green-eyed one is. He’s the one most often seen in town, and he has a more laid-back demeanor and a smile for everyone.

“No. We’ve got it covered. Just checking on folks on the outskirts of town.” He answers. “Well, I drove around a little before knocking. That little yellow car took some damage from tree limbs, but the Impala looks fine.” He tries to get a look around Sam into the bunker, just because he’s curious, but Sam fills up the entryway. “There’s some folks in town we think might be headed your way once we finish getting the trees out of the road. Were you expecting company?”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Home has a powerful meaning; it is a refuge, a building to gather and store material goods, a place to belong…usually one of safety that infuses a person with feelings of unity with the other inhabitants. As diverse as the seeker is the home.

The Winchester brothers have not shared a home place since the demon killed their mother in Sam’s nursery when he was six months and Dean was a few months short of five. The angels have been expelled from the only home they have ever had since creation. Even Abaddon does not recognize Hell after what Crowley did to the place.

Lately, the bunker has started to feel like a home to Sam and Dean and their small band; but as the younger brother stammers out his concern about law enforcement knocking on their door, the Winchesters wonder if they will need to lock the doors and take to the road again.

“So, what do you think, Dean?” Sam knows even as he asks that this decision will be on him. His brother doesn’t have the whole backstory yet. He is still lost. Dean hesitates to even answer. He knows some of the history, having finished the first three novels of the series his brother calls the Winchester Gospel disparagingly, and Castiel and Charlie call the same with reverence.

The problem Dean has with the books is that they do not feel right. He cannot reconcile this guy Dean in the books with how he feels inside. It doesn’t seem to be an age difference either, although, yeah, there’s that. The kids he’s reading about are young, and “that” Dean sure seemed to be content sowing his wild oats, drinking, and ganking monsters. He considers the young giant who is his brother – well, yeah, there’s still plenty of an emo kid there... He’s got nothing against Sam, but he doesn’t feel an overpowering urge to protect him either. Kid looks a little sick, but like he can hold his own in a fight.

Dean thinks for a moment, and then decides he’ll weigh in – for what it’s worth. “Okay, so first. Do we have a legal right to be here? I mean, the sheriff didn’t seem upset that we are living here, right? So what’s the story? And who do they think we are…our cover story, you know? And, just wondering, any of us have wants or warrants?”

A slow grin splits Sam’s face, dimples making a quick appearance. That pragmatic attitude is an actual piece of his brother. It feels good to see it peeking out of the stranger. “Good questions. What can you find out for us, Charlie?” Sam might need a nudge, but he knows his resources, and anything that can be found online is right up her bailiwick.

“On it,” Charlie answers as her fingers fly across the screen of her iPad. “’Kay…place has a trust set up keeping taxes up to date. Hmmm, there’s a nice chunk of change in the account, more than enough. I’ll just tweak this a bit and get us a debit card…momma’s gotta eat. Oh, now, look at that! Dick Roman’s foundation is making a sizable donation. We’re set up as a private club with legal rights to any Man of Letters’ properties, so we’re a legal and upstanding tax-paying entity, as far as Smith County, Kansas, is concerned.”

“So, we’re good?” Dean double checks. At Charlie’s nod, he asks another. “Any of us fugitives?”

“I fixed that a while back. We are us, and,” Charlie adds, “we’re practically virgins.”

Dean guffaws, and Sam smiles to hear it. Castiel looks puzzled, but Sam holds up a staying hand, not sure he’ll be able to breath from laughing if Cas says what he thinks he will. Then Sam reaches down to pat Dean’s shoulder, but his brother captures his wrist and pulls him off-balance and onto the couch. “Needed a hug,” he says gruffly. “I’m a hugger you said. Anyway, the books say you’re the smart one. How come you’re asking me this stuff?”

And there it was again - Dean’s ability to cut through the crap to get to the heart of a matter. “Yeah, I um, rely on you too much. We all do,” Sam mutters. “My track record for when I make decisions without you has been pretty crap for – way too long. “ He shifts a little restlessly as he thinks about what his brother just said. Then he makes a decision to nip one nasty Dean trait at its start. “But, just so you know that I know. Those books say I’m the educated one. Big difference. You’ve always been plenty smart.”

Castiel clears his throat to get the brothers’ attention. “My track record is also noteworthy for the number of screw ups. I too have make mistakes in judgment many times, especially when I have acted counter to your recommendation. I should apologize for that.” Dean stares at him like he’s an alien, and then shakes that thought off because Castiel is, kind of. At any rate, he’s not human.

“So, umm, Castiel, what do I usually do when you mess up?” Dean doesn’t know what’s going on, but it is apparent that the former angel is apologizing to him, not the whole group.

Cas’s mouth moves like a fish. “Well, you yell and posture. Then you forgive,” he stammers.

“Good bet that’s what I’m gonna do again then, huh?”

Sam snorts. “That’s going end up on your tombstone someday, Dean. I mean if you ever die and stay dead…It’ll just say ‘Dean Winchester: He forgives.’ I don’t know how your heart got so big, but you always manage to forgive all of us, no matter how often and spectacularly we screw up. And, our lists of greatest hits, dude…”

Dean pats the couch seat next to him, and Castiel sits. “We’re going to find a way to make this work,” Dean says giving Cas a half hug. Charlie looks over at the three on the couch and yells “Me too” burrowing her way between the brothers. Kevin walks into the room where he’s been listening from the hall.

“Hey, I screw up too,” the teenager says. Sam pats the couch next to him, and Kevin joins the group. While Sam is enjoying the puppy pile, he feels a little bit bad about getting his brother into such a chick flick moment. “Dean…while we’re apologizing….You are, umm, you’re not that big a hugger.” Sam confesses from under long lashes and downcast hazel eyes.

“Figured that out already, Dude.” Dean smirks. “But it’s been a really weird week, and I guess I’m a little scared, you know. I was really alone. It’s nice to have family, so at the risk of being a big dork….”

**. . . . . . .**

Inias has been listening to the echoing voices from the landing above the war room.  As a member of the Earth garrison, Inias has been watching over humans for a long time, but he had never figured out why they were so important to God until now. Inias also knows that the best hope the angels have is downstairs from him in this bunker. God had not shown himself or intervened in ages until this group needed help. Besides, Inias suspects that for the angels to redeem themselves in their father’s eyes, they will have to become more like this group because somewhere along the way they have forgotten to love.

Funny how the little group huddled on the couch is responsible for so much chaos yet is the only proof of God’s continued existence. Sam, Dean, and Cas have all been saved by the father. He is not sure how, but Inias is certain that they will play a part in getting the angels back home to Heaven. Inias’s lips quirk, they’ll have to help. The only thing he could still touch on angel radio was a homing beacon to the prophet of the Lord. That means, wherever in the world the angels fell and no matter how low on power they ran, the angels will all be following the signal. They will all end up here.

While unable to travel through time and space swiftly and silently, Inias and the other angels vast from heaven by Metatron’s spell, they are not depowered. And the angel suspects that being in the same position will not automatically make all the angels see things the same way he does. Some of them may decide killing members of this small group would be vengeance for the predicament the angels are in.

Inias makes his way down the stairs. He believes the angels need these humans, which includes Castiel who has no Grace right now. Castiel may be the example the angels need in how to love, as it is evident that he is a loved member of this little human family. Inias thinks, too, that the angels may need to learn the forgiveness he has just seen showcased by this tiny band of Men of Letters. He stands at the doorway, hesitantly. “Brother,” Inias calls softly to Castiel. “Can I be a part of this too?”


	12. Chapter 12

Bela can’t believe how awful her luck has been. First a tornado tosses trees in her path, and then a thunderstorm slows the county workers from removing said trees, and now the county sheriff just wanders in to the diner she’s holed up in with three baby demons. If she wasn’t so determined to get her hands on a Winchester to prove her worth and loyalty to Hell’s newest royal, she just might make a strategic retreat. And damn her accent has the local law enforcement official looking even more interesting in what she’s doing in the Podunk town of Lebanon, Kansas.

It makes her even madder to know that Dean would be laughing his ass off to see her dilemma. Bela really doesn’t know what made him so special, but she was there, stuck in a pit too, when angels assaulted Hell to get him out. Him, not the millions of other souls. She heard the triumphant shout when he was rescued. Bela also heard through the Hell grapevine when Sam released Lucifer and then defeated him to lock him back in the cage. There must have been more to them than being eye candy, but for the life of her, she doesn’t know how. They had been pretty darned easy to outwit in her earlier run ins with them.

“Fucking Winchesters,” Bela murmurs, drawing surprised looks from her demon soldiers.

“Is that who we’re here for?” Ava asks. Shifting slightly in her chair. “Is that why we were chosen for the mission? Because we know them?”

Bela snorts, “I didn’t ask Abaddon. She doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate someone questioning her decisions.” Bela sips from her coffee cup again. “But, please, once we get back, feel free.” Bela’s snarky remarks put an end to the discussion, but it doesn’t stop Jake and Max from thinking about the last time they saw Sam Winchester. They both wonder how it is that one of their own – one of Azazel’s special children – seems to be responsible for decimating Hell’s hierarchy.

The guys keep their mouths closed. The female demons here are the fiercer of the species. Jake tenses though, prepared to tear the diner to pieces if he needs to as the Smith County Sheriff crosses to their table. “Evening, folks.” Sheriff Robert Downs greets them. “You get caught in the bad weather?”

“Indeed, officer. We seem to be stranded here in your quaint little town until the roads are clear.” Bela doesn’t want trouble, and she wishes she had taken the time to develop a cover story in case of a situation like this. She tosses her chestnut hair and gives him a charming smile.

“Mind if I ask what brought you here? We don’t get many tourists.” The sheriff tucks his thumbs into his utility belt, trying to keep things relaxed. The foursome is not doing anything wrong and doesn’t have to answer his questions. But the sheriff trusts his gut, and it is telling him there’s something hinky with this group.

Ava bats her blue eyes and jumps into the conversation. “My friend Bela is visiting me from Australia, and I’m from Indiana. We were talking about being in the middle of the country, and I don’t know…we just decided to come see the geographical center.” She gives a snorting laugh. “Well, it made sense at the time! How was I supposed to know there’d be a tornado?”

It’s like the air deflates and tension leaves the room. It might be a little crazy, but it’s understandable.  This is the center of the lower forty-eight states. “Where is the closest hotel? Gee. I didn’t even check.” Ava looks rueful and sounds like an airhead, and the sheriff ends up recommending a hotel just twenty miles away in Smith Center. It’s on a route going past the bunker, so the demons act as though it’s a great idea. They’re also pleased to hear the trees have been removed and the road is open to travel.

Bela will lead her soldiers to the bunker, and they will find Dean and Sam Winchester and bring them to the new Queen of Hell. She says she has some questions for them. Bela wonders whether she dares to find time to ask some of her own questions first.

. . . . . .

It’s quiet in the bunker. Only Inias is still awake, standing guard over the sleeping inhabitants, not fully powered, but not so weak as to need to sleep like the humans he is watching over.

Inias can feel his siblings coming, angels following the pulse to the prophet, and he can feel demons following whatever impulse whoever was running Hell right now wanted. He mentally prepares himself, hoping this will not be a confrontation with other angels that they will ally with him. Heaven has lost too many lately; their numbers severely depleted and now cast out of Paradise. He wonders if they are the proverbial bread upon waters or the pearls before swine, if they will find their way home or be left here forever, and who will step forth to lead them now.

He can feel Juan’s approach – Juan who was tasked with guarding the Gates of Heaven ever since the gates were closed to Lucifer’s army, who – to the best of Inias’s knowledge – has never before set foot on Earth. With him are some of his sister guardians: Hashmal, Dumah, and Amesha. Inias looks forward to greeting them again. They, too, have never left the Heavenly realm before, nor are they warriors, so Inias hopes they are just some of the angels who will be arriving soon. He needs other angels to help him. He needs help protecting this group uniting in the bunker marked by the Aquarian Star, the unicursal pentagram that symbolizes the joining of the mundane and divine - a fitting symbol for this group of humans that carry angelic bloodlines.

It’s ironic, Inias thinks, but he plans to defend Castiel, if needs be, although the former commander of the Earth garrison has destroyed more angels than Inias wants to count. Inias was there when Hester declared that Castiel had been corrupted the minute he had laid hands upon Dean Winchester to drag him from Hell. He shuts his eyes, giving his fears over to a faith in a higher purpose, a plan that he just doesn’t see clearly. God must have one, and Inias is sure that the Righteous Man must still have a role to play in it. Inias will protect him, and Dean Winchester’s little brother for whom he sacrificed so much, and the prophet of the lord.

“Our Father has a plan,” Inias murmurs, those words containing all his faith.

**. . . . . . .**

Abaddon wants answers and she wants her brother. She wants one person she can trust to tell her the truth about what is going on, to explain what happened in that blink of an eye that made her travel fifty years into the future because after millennium, it seems impossible that so much has changed in such a short amount of time.

She and Azazel were Lucifer’s lieutenants. They had tried to show their father that the angels, his older children, were more worthy of him than the humans he made and told them to love and protect. They were more obedient to his will. They tried harder to be like him. But he seemed to love the humans more.

First, the rebellious angels proved that the humans were corruptible, manipulating them into committing crimes against the father. He created Earth for them. The angels lay with them and created Nephilim…and the father blessed those abominations to become lines of vessels so when his older children walked on Earth they would not inadvertently harm the younger. She and Lucifer twisted the humans and some Nephilim, and they became the first demons. But God still did not give up on his hairless apes.

Instead of realizing that the angels were only trying to show him that these humans were not worthy, God told them it was because of their weaknesses that the angels should protect the humans, subjugating their own wants and needs for these flawed beings. When Lucifer refused again, their father had Michael – their oldest brother – cast them into the pit where the demons they had created dwelled. Then when Lucifer continued to shout defiance and swear he would lead Hell’s army against the angels, Michael created a cage to contain him.

Abaddon intends to dig answers to her questions out of the upstart salesman who has been claiming to be King of Hell.

“Come, now, love.” Crowley tries to squirm where is manacled onto a tilted table. “I’ll tell you whatever you want. There’s no need to be hostile. It was a miscommunication!” When Crowley took over running Hell, Abaddon had been missing presumed dead. As Lucifer’s lieutenant – one of the original devils – he knew he could not stand against her, any more than he could have stood toe-to-toe against Lucifer or Azazel.

“I’m telling you that you need the Winchesters, the prophet, the tablets, and their pet angel. Not me!” Crowley continues his tirade. He is ready to take any demotion she deems, but he’d rather avoid taking a turn on the torture table. That is definitely an area where it is better to give than receive. “They’re the ones that popped Lucifer out and then shoved him and Michael in. And I don’t even know how they snuck Sam’s soul back out. The blighters recently broke into Hell and freed their adopted father, Bobby Singer. I don’t know how they did that either.”

Crowley tries to make eye contact with the tall fallen angel wielding a very sharp knife again. “Believe me when I tell you they have been nothing but a pain in my arse since the moment I met them.”

Abaddon hasn’t liked anything she’s heard from this pitiful excuse for a demon. The Apocalypse averted by the Winchesters with help from the Angel of Death and God himself. Leviathan freed. Heaven in an all-out civil war with its forces depleted. Tablets with information meant to give humans the power to close off Heaven and Hell. Metatron taking vengeance on supposed slights and tossing all the angels to Earth. All of this in the short span of time she lost following Henry Winchester through a time portal.

“Fine.” Abaddon snaps at Crowley. “This is all crazy enough that I have to believe you. But here’s my question…how can you help me open the cage without getting a face full of Michael? It can’t be as strong as it once was nor as well guarded. Tell me what you have tried to release Lucifer.”

Crowley winces. She’s got him there. He has not tried to open the cage, hasn’t been a loyal follower, instead Crowley has been focused on consolidating his power in Hell, on the day-to-day running and upkeep of this realm, and on finding the tablets and the prophet. He tries to think of some way to tell her this that will not end up with him flayed. “I told you what I’ve been doing.” It’s a little bit on the whiny side, but he’s feeling justified in that.

Abaddon holds the knife against his sternum, tracing lines that trickle fresh streams of red blood. “Let’s go over it again from the beginning.”

. . . . . . .

Dean had been sleeping restlessly, dreams filled with flashes of light and color too fast to interpret. He wakes and glances over at the alarm clock, realizing that if he gets up now it will just make his fourth day of amnesia seem longer. He showers and readies himself for the day before deciding to go see what he can scrounge up for breakfast. Maybe he’ll start the coffee, and then go check on the cars. Didn’t the sheriff say one had some storm damage?


	13. Chapter 13

“Hello, Darling.” The accented women’s voice comes from right behind him and Dean whacks his head on the Gremlin’s door frame as he spins around to see who it is. Not that it helps – but she’s pretty and standing very close.

Dean rubs at the forming bump, glad to see it’s not bleeding. “I’m sorry.” And he thinks he really is sorry as she curls into the side of his body and trails a fingernail down his jaw to trace a line to his clavicle. “I, umm, guess we know each other?”

Bela drinks in the changes several years have wrought over Dean Winchester’s face. He’s lost the rounded softness he tried to hide with stubble when he was younger, but he still has those sweet freckles lending boyish charm. His leaner face is more chiseled, but with his memory loss his eyes are less wary than she thinks he has ever been around her. Not for the first time Bela wishes she had managed to lure him to her bed.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t remember.” Bela purrs into his ear as she strokes her palm over his chest, feeling him shiver a little under her hand. “That’s fine.” She whispers in his ear. “We’ll just make new memories, hmmm?”

As distracting as having a beautiful woman touching him is, Dean notices that she isn’t alone. Another woman and two men are standing nearby leering. About the same time as Dean begins to get nervous, Inias rounds the building leading a group carrying short swords drawn. “Back away from him, demon,” Inias demands, and suddenly Dean finds himself being held closer with a dagger at his throat and the three other people advancing to flank the woman holding him.

“That’s close enough, angel.” Bela tries to pull Dean back behind the advancing line of Jake, Max, and Ava. They don’t really want to tangle with angels who could actually kill them instead of just returning them to Hell. But they don’t want to fail in their mission and have to face Abaddon either. And as though the thought of her was enough to conjure her, Abaddon forms next to Bela.

“I was wondering what was taking so long.” The tall red-headed demon drawls to Bela, her eyes raking over these angels in front of her. Except Inias, she can tell they aren’t warriors. But they do offer her a new opportunity. If Abaddon can convince the displaced angels that their best chance at getting home is with Michael leading them, she can bring them to her side. They will be in agreement and allied against this small group of hunters.

Dean uses the distraction of the angels and Abaddon’s arrival to twist away from the knife, using what must be muscle memory to dodge and roll away, out of harm’s way. Deciding that he prefers the angels between him and the demons, he bolts behind them. And then he keeps going towards the bunker. He might be a fearsome hunter normally; right now he is facing things he doesn’t remember. Demon fighting must be covered in later novels.

Sam is just slurping down his first cup of coffee sitting at the library table looking over the research the group pulled last night about breaking the curse on his brother when Dean slams in the door and clatters down the front stairs with a look on his face Sam is not used to seeing.

“Demons!” Dean gasps out. “Five demons.” He comes to a stop beside Sam and clutches a chair back. “And angels. Inias is with them.” Dean slumps into the chair, facing the tall man who is his brother. “I, umm, I ran. I didn’t know what to do…” He peters off and looks down, unable to meet the eyes he’s sure must be judging him.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is gentle but hurried. They have demonic forces outside their home. “Go wake Cas, Kevin and Charlie. Stop worrying…there’s nothing you could have done. Go!”

Sam’s moving even as he’s talking. Charlie had helped him add some security, and he opens the laptop to assess the threat. This is the first time he regrets having brought other people to the bunker. He hadn’t realized how much his sense of security was based on the secrecy of their location. Then there’s the issue of Dean’s memory loss. This is all on him right now. He is solely responsible for his and his brother’s safety for the first time in his life.

The fact that the angel versus demon standoff outside has not erupted into violence worries Sam as he adjusts the view on the outside cameras. Charlie flies in, moving Sam slightly out of the way to take her place in front of the computer, fingers flying over keys. “Do we have any sound?” Sam asks her in a low voice, mentally going over and disposing of options. Their best hope is for these two groups to fight, and probably for the angels to win.

If Inias is actually an ally. If the angels can be trusted.

Sam’s doubted that lately, though. He’s pretty sure that Cas is the only exception to the rule of angels being forces against the brothers. Sam has had a lot of time to think lately, and he’s been mulling over how he and his brother had been condemned to this life from the start – from Heaven and Hell. He hasn’t had time to talk to Dean about his suspicions yet, but that wouldn’t even matter right now. His Dean isn’t really there because Dean without memory is not really Dean.

Hell’s meddling in their life began with Azazel’s manipulation of their mother into a deal to save her boyfriend’s life. John Winchester, who had an unknown legacy to the Men of Letters, was an unlikely match for Mary Campbell from a line of hunters dating back before the Mayflower reached America’s shores. But there was a piece the guys learned several years ago that Sam’s mind had jiggled trying to make fit. The angels, the Cupids, had intervened to bring John and Mary together.

Sam has started to think the two sides had actually worked together to make sure Dean and Sam had been raised hunters because Sam thinks John could not help how obsessed he grew after Mary’s death. John had been whammied by heaven and couldn’t let her death go. Heaven made sure Sam and Dean would grow up homeless and with a Drill Sergeant for a father. Sam shakes his head, mentally trying to put these thought away, but seeing the angels and demons talking outside instead of fighting, knowing the angels want their home back and suspecting Hell is in an uproar, especially since he and Dean had nabbed it’s ruler for a while, Sam’s  fear level rises.

Castiel moves quietly over to stand beside Sam surveying the scene outside. Cas might be only half-trained as a human hunter, but he has thousands of years of experience in strategy. It does not take long before alarm starts to show on his face. This is not a good sign. The angels should be fighting demons, not talking and casting glances toward the bunker doors.

“Quickly, angel warding symbols on the door now!” Cas barks the command, years of military command adding force to the order. Kevin and Sam move in response, but Cas’s hand stays Charlie. “Zoom in,” he demands. “Focus on the older female demon’s lips.” Cas squints at the screen even as he moves his face forward, concentrating on reading her lips to understand at least one part of the situation. He frowns as the older male angel turns to look toward the bunker.

The former angel straightens as Sam and Kevin return. There’s only one entry point to the bunker which had already been warded against everything else. Angel-proofing complete, they are safe inside, but they are also susceptible to a siege. They can hole up, but they will eventually have to come out when they exhaust their food supplies.

The small group gathers around the library table. “How bad is it?” Sam wants to get right to business.

Castiel clears his throat, his voice low and gravely. “The older angel is Juan, the gatekeeper. This is his first visit to Earth…ever. He wants to go home. The older demon, Abaddon….I do not know if you are aware that she is a demon like Azazel, like Lucifer.”

“You mean she’s a fallen angel?” Sam is appalled, but it does make sense that while they were able to incapacitate her, the Winchesters could not kill her.

Castiel clears his throat again. “Yes, Sam. Abaddon is my sister. She is convincing Juan that the angels can regain Heaven, and she can have Lucifer freed in Hell. To succeed, she needs to capture you and your brother, and then reopen the cage.”

Sam slams his hand on the table, making them all jump. “Damn it! We are right back where we were before I said yes to Lucifer. We are right back as pawns.” He takes deep breaths as he runs his hands through his hair, and the he blurts out what he was thinking earlier about his father’s obsessions and Cupid’s bow.

Charlie listens carefully. She has made it her purpose to research everything she can about the Winchesters and about hunting. Charlie has read all the books, all the fanfiction and Meta; she has had countless discussions with Sam and Dean. Sam notices she has something to say but is hesitating.

“What, Charlie?” Sam barks at her, annoyed. “You disagree?”

“Oh, no, Sam! What you said makes lots of sense, I just…” Charlie bites her lower lip and looks between the brothers, her adopted family. “I just think there’s a really big difference this time that you’re overlooking.”

“Go on.”

She’s pinned by the eyes of all four men, and she swallows before answering. “The first time you were caught up between Heaven and Hell they wanted to fight a battle here on Earth and kill millions of people. You had to stop them.” Sam nods his head, encouraging her to go on. “This time it’s different,” Charlie falters afraid to say what she’s thinking, afraid she’s right.

“This time the angels are stuck on Earth and are dangerous to mankind. If they stay here, they may kill millions. This time, you may have to say yes or the angels will be the worst nightmare mankind has ever faced.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Wait one goddamn minute here,” Dean roars, making Charlie jump and the others turn to face him. “I think I need to know what’s going on. No more telling me to read the book. Someone catch me up with the Cliff notes version, now!” Day four of having no memories, that’s all this is. Dean’s innocence of the situation may kill him, and his ignorance could get him, or them, killed. So Sam makes an executive decision after staring intently at his brother.

“Dean, man. We don’t have time to bring you up to speed or work on fixing you right now. We have a more immediate problem.” Sam draws himself to his full height, an impressively big man even as gaunt as his sickness has made him, but he really should know better than to try to loom over Dean because Dean is intrinsically a fighter. It’s not all learned skill from their father’s training. Towering over Dean to intimidate him just makes him dig in his heels and set his jaw. He’ll go down fighting.

Fortunately, Castiel recognizes the blind spot in both Winchesters (each other), and he steps in before they come to blows. “We are in no immediate danger as long as we stay inside and the food holds out. Fortunately when I awoke earlier today, I went to the store and resupplied us. There is no need to panic.” Cas feels good about the fact that he took the debit card and shopping list and walked to the convenience store before anyone else was awake this morning. Without his powers, he frequently feels useless.

Of course, Cas is also kicking himself for not knowing Dean was outside around the back of the bunker when he returned from the store. It’s hard to protect someone if you don’t know where they are, he tells himself. Instead of assuming Dean was still asleep, he should have checked.

“Ha!” Kevin’s angry exclamation redirects the brothers staring contest. “We’re surrounded by angels and demons -and you’re worried about food? I just…” He nervously runs his hands through his hair. “I just really gotta wonder about your priorities, Cas.”

“It’s a strategy game, Kev. Like Civilization 3.” The three older guys turn puzzled faces to Charlie as she addresses the young prophet. “We’re in an impregnable base with enemy forces arrayed against us. As long as our food, water, and barricade hold out, we’re safe inside. So, chill, dude. Let’s let them figure out who our allies are and how to get word to them.”

Before they met Charlie, neither of the Winchesters thought gaming was a way to learn strategy. Instead the planning and preparation of a confrontation was drilled into them by their father, and, as was usual, Dean took it more to heart. Before Charlie met the Winchesters, strategy was a game. She was happy that her background allowed her to explain things to Kevin in a way the young man could understand and not be overwhelmed with.

“Do we have allies?” Kevin asks, and that’s the gist of the problem.

Sam grinds his teeth, trying to stay composed. He needs Kevin to drop the subject because he is convinced it will be easier to gain Dean’s cooperation that way. He needs to be their unquestioned leader right now, but he doesn’t want to act like a drill sergeant like their father had. “Kevin, you and Dean are non-combatants unless it gets really hairy. Okay, so, here’s what we are going to do right now. Kevin, you take Dean into another room and give him the condensed version of his life. Don’t make things up. If you don’t know, say so, and jot it down. I’ll answer that later.” He waits until Kevin and Dean nod agreement.

“Charlie, I promise I am not being sexist, but would you go figure out something easy to eat for all of us. We can’t just graze through the food in case this takes a while. From now until we finish this, we eat only at mealtimes. So, Charlie try to figure out how many days we can hold out too, okay?” Sam gestures between him and Cas. “We are going to see who we know still alive who will be on our side. If that’s okay with everyone, let’s get to work. We’ll talk again when the food’s ready.”

**. . . . . . .**

Things outside the bunker haven’t been going as smoothly as the video feed to the people inside made them believe, but it is a meeting at this point - not a confrontation. Earthbound angels to a fallen angel and her minions. Inias is glad Dean escaped. Having him in their possession gave the demons an unfair advantage. After Dean made his way inside the bunker, the angels felt the warding going up, though, and it showed Inias that Castiel did not trust him.  Inias frowns while he considers the implications.

Inias turns toward Juan, the oldest and highest ranking angel present. “Why have you come, brother? And what do you need of me?”

The older man turns toward the bunker, and he gestures at the three with him. “We have been following the only signal we can find. It led us here.” He brushes a shaking hand through his dark hair. “We can tell that Castiel is here though too. And that man, that man is the Righteous Man, is he not?”

Inias is not used to being turned to by an angel of higher rank. Angels have an established hierarchy, but that has been thrown into chaos over the past few years. First there was the split among the angels about the aborted Apocalypse, and then the death or disappearance of all the Archangels except one. Castiel played a role in that. And then Raphael, the sole remaining Archangel, and Castiel, a Seraph, went to war. The Civil War in Heaven caused a terrible rift and hoards of angels died fighting for one side or the other. When Castiel won by becoming immensely strong on souls stolen from Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, he had slaughtered every surviving angel from Raphael’s army. Every death was broadcast on angel radio and the loss of their brothers and sisters traumatized the remaining angels. Deaths are messy and problematic; angels like order and structure.

Instead of fixing Heaven while he had the power, Castiel concentrated on Earth. Inside Heaven, power struggles erupted and Naomi’s group of black ops angels were the best organized. A organization that once was rarely used, Naomi’s group surged into the gap left when the garrisons were decimated. When Castiel lost his power and released the Leviathan, the angels thought he was dead again. Castiel resurrection again proved to them that God was not dead.

Three times their Father has brought Castiel back, but this time Castiel – in completing the ritual for Metatron – was turned into a human. And this time the Father is not interfering. God isn’t taking care of his angels; he is not returning them to their home; and he is not punishing Metatron. The angels are homeless, angry, splintered, and roaming Earth. Their elder sister, one of the original fallen angels stands before them as both a comfort and a warning. Angels can live cut off from heaven, but as time passes, they will become like Abaddon.

Juan gazes at the Knight of Hell with fearful eyes. He remembers her being thrown from their home, and he is afraid of her. “Abaddon.” He struggles to find words. “Sister? Why do you bring hellspawn to the place of the prophet?”

The current reigning monarch of Hell laughs mirthlessly. “Juan, sisters, I thought never to see you again unless Lucifer ascended. I think we need to talk. We do not understand what is going on and who is supposed to be in charge.”

Inias gestures toward the bunker. “We must plan how we are going to approach those inside this human shelter. Besides the prophet and the Righteous Man, Lucifer’s true vessel is inside and our brother Castiel, who is a human now. Plus, this is the stronghold of the angelic lines, the Men of Letters. Inside is all the lore we have ever gifted the bloodlines of possible vessels to help them fight the forces of evil.”

As the group outside prepares to make decisions, Abaddon sends her minions away. “No sense having you here. It’s like chumming the waters.” The ancient being smirks at her underlings. “Ava, you can practice some of your new techniques on Crowley. Find out everything he knows about the prophet’s association with the Winchesters. Children, watch her. Hell needs to get back to normal.” She tosses her tousled hair. “Standing in line, bah.” She cannot help herself from muttering.

The small group’s attention is immediately pulled away by snipping sounds near a small copse of trees that run along a dry creek bed, and all but Abaddon breath a sigh of relief. The angel Joshua – the keeper of the garden and God’s closest friend -- is quietly puning away dead branches, humming a hymn under his breath. Something in the sudden silence alerts the angel, and he turns towards them slowly.

“Welcome my brothers and sisters. I am happy you remembered the meeting place. Now that I have your attention, I think we need to talk.”


	15. Chapter 15

Sieges date back throughout history for as long as anyone has bothered to keep track. Several specific instances are discussed in the Bible. They rarely end well for the people under siege unless outside help intervenes to break cordon, whether directly or by circumventing it like in Berlin. Usually, and in the case of the Men of Letters Bunker Siege, a superior force surrounds a secured location and cuts it off from help and necessities like food, electricity, or water. When police SWAT Teams surround hostage situations, which are similar to sieges, the first step is to cut off communications with the outside world -- to isolate the people inside and to prevent them from calling for help.

The problem Sam and Cas are having is that neither of them has a clue who to call for backup. No dad, no Bobby, no hunters’ network. Sam takes in a deep breath. He is not going to panic again; he knows there’s someone out there who can help. He starts a list: Missouri, Aaron and the Golem, James and Portia, Jody Mills, the hunter kids. There must be more. He just needs to think, and he needs to not be so afraid that a phone call will be equal to a death sentence because he can’t really call any of these people.

“We can’t.” A stricken Sam turns to Castiel, the hand holding the pen shaking slightly. “We can’t endanger any of these guys. They’re safer if they don’t even know us.” The big man is thinking hard, turning over scenarios in his mind and not liking any of them. “I’m gonna burn the list so they won’t even know they exist.” Sam carefully lights the paper on fire and then lets it drop into a large ashtray to burn. “Cas? Man, can you think of anyone?”

Unlike Sam, who is so full of nervous energy that he vibrates, Castile is unnaturally still while he thinks. It reminds Sam that even powerless, Castile is not actually human. Cas spent the first few weeks after being tricked by Metatron finding out that his brother angels blamed him, and he admits to himself that they are right. The ones he met on the road made it clear that they would not be forgiving in this. His saving grace to them was his association with the two men the angels believe can make things right, the Winchester brothers. And right now, only Sam even remembers him.

“I have no one except you.” Cas has a brutal honesty and he does not spare himself. “The best we can do right now is work to reverse the spell on Dean. He is our best resource, and this entire situation makes me feel more diminished than I have ever before felt.”

Sam doesn’t want to agree, but he mulls over his motives in his head. The younger brother badly wants to be the hero for a change, to protect the older when he is in such a compromising condition, but Sam realizes that he needs to set his own ego aside. Sighing, he agrees with Castiel. They need Dean’s mind back and functioning. As long as they remain inside, Sam believes they will be safe. They cannot hope to sneak past the people gathered outside; angels and demons do not need sleep.

While Sam’s considering that, Charlie comes back into the room.

“A week tops, for food.” Charlie has completed her inventory of supplies. “And that’s eating two kinda small meals a day. We could double that by only eating one, but we’ll be hungry and probably weak. Plenty of water, of course, so we’ll be able to last until we actually starve.” While her news is bad, Charlie delivers it neutrally. She thought about this as she was fixing soup and counting supplies. Panic and drama would make things worse, and she will not be that weak link.

“What did you guys decide?” Charlie can actually tell from Sam’s expression that the news is not good. She busily sets bowls and spoons on the table for lunch before heading back to the kitchen for the pot of tomato and rice soup and sleeve of saltine crackers, calling for Kevin and Dean to join them.

Most of lunch is spent listening to Sam explain the problems and the plan with the rest of the group eating. When Sam finishes talking, he picks up his spoon – wasting food is not an option. “So what do you think?” He really wants to know if Charlie or Kevin has a different plan, but they are all taken aback when it is Dean who speaks up.

“Okay. I heard you out.” Dean’s voice is no-nonsense. “But I just spent a half-hour getting the 4-1-1 on my life, and I’ve got a suggestion.” The rest of the group waits to hear what this version of Dean will come up with. He is their best strategist and only his memories are missing.

“In a nutshell, Sam wants his brother back. Castiel wants to fix heaven. Charlie wants family. Kevin wants revenge on the demons. That’s just from you four inside. We are locked down because heaven and hell are arrayed against us. The demons want hell fixed; the angels want to go home. We are low on supplies and we don’t have any allies strong enough to help without it being a suicide mission. I’ve got that right, don’t I?”

Dean looks around for agreement and he gets it from everyone except Sam.

“What, Sam?”

The taller Winchester looks hard at his older brother. “I want more than just you. I want you so we can make a good decision on where we go from here.”

Dean nods his head which is pounding slightly in fear and anticipation. He knows what he’s about to recommend is not what this grave younger brother wants to hear.

“Well, Kevin says most of this bull crap we’re facing started off with our dad making a deal with a demon after spending years trying to get revenge. Seems like thirty years should have taught us that’s not the way to go. He says we stopped an Apocalypse, but ended up starting power struggles in both Heaven and Hell that led us to where we are right now. That it’s on us that there aren’t any archangels left to take on Metatron. He also said I’ve died so many times the frigging Angel of Death and I practically share recipes. He says the me you know was desperate to keep his little brother alive and so even though we were on the last step, we decided to let the demons run free just to keep you alive.”

Dean faces his younger brother. “I don’t blame you for missing him. Sounds like he loves you past the point of reason, because, Dude, one man or the world? I think I’m gonna go with Spock on this. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one.”

Sam is frowning; he can tell where this is going and he doesn’t like it.

The older hunter clears his throat but refuses to back down in the face of the anger he sees building in the young giant. “We need to summon Death so I can talk to him. He’s the only potential ally they have that does not have to fear the forces arrayed out there.”

Sam explodes. “Dean, you can’t. I mean that! Yeah, I think he is amused by you, but Death is not our friend. He’s going to be pissed off if we call him.” Sam feels like he’s not getting through as this outline of his brother squares his shoulders and sets his jaw. “I am not letting you become the sacrifice.”

“You can’t stop me.”

Sam turns to Kevin. “What the hell did you tell him? What did you say?”

Kevin looks angrily back. “The truth, Sam! What you asked me to! And I think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know where this is going. You and Dean are agents of chaos and have been for years because you won’t let each other stay dead. Cas is every bit as much at fault or you’d still be in the cage. You guys have got to start thinking about what you’re doing to the rest of the world!”

Cas gets up to throw himself between the younger Winchester and the prophet while Charlie grabs Kevin, who is too angry to think straight. While they struggle to keep them apart, Dean watches, wondering if he should just go now before he can do more damage.

The air grows still and there’s a sound like rustling leaves before Death appears in the room and a feast is on the table. “Sit down, all of you.” The entity as old as creation intones. “And don’t speak.”

The hunters freeze in his presence, mouths dry with fear.

“And don’t let the ribs get cold. I picked them up from the Kansas City BBQ. It was recently voted to have the best ribs and coleslaw in the country.” He waves his hand. “All of you. Sit. And eat. It’s less likely you’ll annoy me that way.”

While the humans and Castiel take their places again and fill their plates, Death studies the older Winchester. Unlike most humans, this one gets to him. Perhaps it’s because he has died more than one hundred times, maybe it’s their shared love of food, or the zest and appreciation for life Death sees in Dean. At this point he doesn’t know, and he is annoyed with himself for caring. He waits until the mortals each take a bite.

“So, Dean.” Death says as he lifts a forkful of pork rib to his lips. “Who stole your memories?”

Sam starts to answer.

Death points a fork at him menacingly. “Not you.”

Dean hurried chews and tries to shift his food over at the same time so he can answer.

“Chew your food, Dean. I can wait.” Death takes another bite, closing his eyes to savor the taste. He opens them again and pins Dean with a look. “Good?”

Dean nods as he swallows. “Yes, ummm, thank you Mister Death. Best I’ve ever had, I think.” As Death nods, Dean puts his fork down. “And I want to, umm, say thanks for coming here.”

“Well, whoever stole your memories took some of your bad manners with them.” Death comments taking another bite as he waits for Dean to talk.

“Well, the way I understand it. My memories got zapped instead of me dying when I ganked a Loup Garou in Louisiana.”

Death stares intently for a moment. “So you didn’t die, again?”

Dean startles, realizes what he just said to Death personified. “Not on purpose!” He blurts. “I just wear a hex bag.”

Death’s mouth twitches. “Go on, Dean. Why were you going to summon me?”

Dean thinks about the fact that Death knew what he had intended to do before he even started. “Can I ask how you knew that? How you knew I was going to call?” He clears his throat. “And, ummm, how’d you get in here?”

“Last time we spoke, I told you that you and your brother were going to cause a disruption of the natural order on a global scale if you were not careful, Dean. I forgive you for not remembering, under the circumstances, but I am here because the global circumstances are gathering outside the doors of this place. I assume that’s what you wanted to talk about to me?”  Death slaps his hand on the table. “But loss of memory should not excuse rudeness. Do you think there is anywhere that can keep out Death?”

Dean gulps. “No, Sir. Ummm, sorry. Again.” Dean is not the only one squirming. The rest of the group is trying to eat and stay quiet as Death commanded, but they are intimidated and the food feels like sawdust stuck in their throats.

“Get on with it. Ask what you are going to ask. I don’t have all day.”

Dean has straightened in his chair. Memories or not, his dignity is intact, as is his honor and integrity. This is a man that monsters fear. “Fair enough. We need an intermediary with that group out there. We need to devise a plan that gets the angels the hell off Earth and straightens out Hell. We need to make the world safe for people again.”

Death nods slowly. “If I do this, you must know that you may need to make a personal sacrifice.”

“Yeah, I get that. I know. And I appreciate your help.” The older hunter squares his shoulders again. “So, you’ll be mediator?”

As Death leaves, Dean turns to face a heart-broken younger brother.


	16. Chapter 16

The angels, fallen and damned, bow their heads to him when Death appears sitting at the head of a conference table on the yard outside the doors of the Men of Letters bunker.

“Abaddon. Ever efficient I see. I suppose you are Hell’s current representative?” Death’s look is piercing, as though he can see her right through the body of Josie Sands. “Or not completely. Well, then, we will wait while you bring that other one, Crowley. I am here to negotiate a deal, and it WILL be binding.”

“Yes, Sir.” If the humans had been present, they would have been amazed at how differentially their mediator was treated, but, death, a final death, came to all souls eventually. Only a fool would treat it lightly. Abaddon would prefer her final death to be a long time from now.

There are now ten angels gathered outside, three news ones had trickled in after the bunker was sealed. Eventually all angels would try to find them, following the “signature” of a Prophet of the Lord. Death turns to the choir, and in what is almost a friendly manner he addresses God’s Gardener. “Joshua. It has been a long time. Are you going to represent Heaven?”

Joshua gives a small half smile. “I’ve been asked. Although I told them I’m just a worker and much younger in time than others here.” At that Joshua nods to Juan who has guarded Heaven’s Gate since it was formed. “But I think I bring a unique perspective - as a human who became an angel - and I have a cooler head.:

“False modesty, Joshua. You were a prophet and still speak directly to the Creator.” Death dismisses this part of the conversation with a wave of his hand.

 The former leader of the Israelites narrows his eyes slightly, “I am surprised to find our father’s brother representing the humans.” It’s not quite a question.

Death glares at Joshua. The angels, Archangels, Seraphim, Principalities, Thrones, or Cherubim, rarely discuss relationships except to use the terms brother or sister, but the creator and the reaper are two sides of one entity and meant to balance each other. Death usually tells people who dare to ask, like Dean Winchester, that he cannot remember which of them is older; but in truth he knows they are exactly the same age.

“Who understands their mortality better?” Death asks, looking honestly interested in the answer. “They are the least permanent of my brother’s peoples and the most loved. Most demons were once human – and as you know very well, having done it yourself, many angels were also. Very few angels or demons die completely, or at least that was once true, and even then they are absorbed back into the creator. You have no other eternity.”

Some of the other angels looked startled; they had not considered where angels go when they die.

“So the Archangels Raphael and Gabriel have been reabsorbed?” Joshua asks tentatively. “We feel our expulsion from Heaven is a circumstance that requires the power of our father’s most awesome weapons. And right now we only know of the two remaining who are caged in the pit, so did not lose their ability to teleport.” Joshua talks softly, but his voice is clear and sure. “WE need Michael and Lucifer, and their vessels are inside that bunker.”

Death crooks his eyebrow at Joshua. “Raphael has returned into the Creator, but I’ve felt no such disturbance by the death of Gabriel. I think he is too much like the Creator sometimes. He’s off hiding somewhere.”

**. . . . . . .**

Sam follows Dean down to the floor and pins him, ready to hit him again. “You don’t get to make decisions like that. You promised me that we were going to be in this together. That nothing had priority over me.” Sam is yelling in Dean’s face. Sam had attacked with ninja speed but now he has both Castiel and Charlie pulling him off Dean whose nose is bleeding.

“What the hell?” Dean yells as he pops up off the floor once the others have Sam’s weight off him. “What kind of frikking way is that to treat your brother. And what makes you think you get any say?”

Sam snorts angrily wrenching his arm out of Cas’s grip. “You are not my brother. You’re just an empty shell.” Sam is making a decision even as he regains control of his emotions. “And I’m not letting you throw his life away. You just don’t even have a clue how much Dean has had to overcome, or how hard he fights for us to stay alive. I’m not going to let you make some kind of crappy deal with Death just because you think you know what’s going on.” Sam shoves his too-long hair back with both hands.

The sneer on Dean’s face is familiar, and Sam’s hand twitches wanting to smack it off his face. He thinks he might finally understand better his brother’s dismay when he was walking around without a soul. You can’t hurt the body because eventually your brother will need it back.

“I don’t know how you think you can stop me.” Dean is balancing on the balls of his feet, and Sam knows that his brother is the more ruthless fighter. Sam is tired and feeling stupid for having hit Dean. Obviously he needs to find some non-violent method to curb his brother’s heroic tendencies because without memories, Dean’s desire to throw himself under the bus isn’t tempered by his determination to be there for Sam.

But Sam isn’t the only one listening. Castiel’s hand curls into a fist. It’s like déjà vu. He thinks about how he had “convinced” Dean before not to give in to the demands of the angels. This time – if it comes to it – Cas knows he may lose. Then he remembers that Sam is a strong ally. He looks over at the taller man who is back in control. It’s obvious that he’s thinking hard, and Castiel steps back when Sam waves him off.

“You know what, Dean? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve hit you.” Let me go get the first aid kit and take a look at it.” Sam’s holding a hand out toward Dean who is looking at him suspiciously. “Okay. Man, I don’t blame you. That was dumb, and uncalled for.”

Sam wanders out of the room but returns shortly with the kit and a bottle of beer which he hands to Dean. “Sit down, Dean, please. I said I’m sorry. Let me get this cleaned up and see the damage.” Sam is gently pushing Dean down and bringing the wet cloth up to clean off the blood. Dean sits back and relaxes a little, still keeping a wary eye on his brother in an uneasy truce. He waits for a pause in Sam’s ministrations and gulps half the beer.

Charlie and Cas are quietly researching again, determined to find a counter spell to get the real Dean Winchester back. Kevin had fled the room at the hint of violence. The new hunters are still keeping an eye on the brothers, and they notice that shortly after finishing the beer the older Winchester starts yawning and slumping down in the seat. Sam shakes him awake, and then he helps him over to the old couch, where he stretches out and nods off. Sam smirks down at him, and then he arranges his brother more comfortably.

“You drugged him?” Charlie’s voice cracks and the end is almost a screech. Sam must have doctored the beer he gave his brother, and the redhead is having a hard time believing Sam did that. “You ruffied your own brother?”

“I’m not letting Mr. Blank Disc here make decisions for Dean.” Sam says it defiantly. He understands his action is somewhat questionable, but he doesn’t want to have to hurt Dean either.

Castiel moves closer and stands behind the couch. He takes in the knocked out hunter. “He looks peaceful,” the former angel nods as he talks. “This may be the best solution, Sam. But will we need to drug him again when he wakes up, or should we bind and gag him?”

“You ruffied your own brother?” Charlie screeches again. “You, you…you can’t do that. You can’t disregard what he wants that much. Sam, listen to me. This is wrong. Your brother is an adult. He has free will. He gets to make decisions for himself.” Charlie is practically panting with the effort of getting through to the thick-headed younger Winchester.

She spins around to face Castiel. “I’m not going to let you make him some kind of prisoner.” Castiel scoffs. While he says nothing his eyes challenge her. Does she think she can actually stop him?

Sam’s voice is almost as deep and growly as his brother’s. “No. Charlie. Just no.” His long legs make pacing a short series of steps. “What you have to understand is that Dean, our Dean, wouldn’t make these decisions because of what he has learned through his life experiences. This guy…” He takes a minute to spread an old blanket over the sleeping form gently. It is his turn to keep his brother safe, even from himself. He wonders how many times in his life Dean thought the same thing, and whether it scared his brother as much as it scares him. “This guy is making deals I don’t think my brother would make in his right mind. I can’t let him….” He shakes his head. “I won’t let him.”

**. . . . . . .**

The silence of the angels is broken by the reappearance of Abaddon with Crowley, who looks battered and a bit dazed. His eyes widen in alarm when he sees they are meeting with Death. And he opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t.” Death is curt, and Crowley’s mouth snaps shut.

“I am representing the mortal population of Earth.” Death says bluntly. “You two will represent Hell.” He turns to Joshua. “I understand that you want one of the Archangels to represent Heaven along with you. So if you will excuse me one moment?” The question is rhetorical as Death has disappeared before anyone could react, the angels and demons all uneasy as the wait.

“Well?” Demands Crowley. “Is one of you wingless mooks going to fill me in on what the bloody hell is going on?” Abaddon glares at him.

“Don’t mistake your presence here as a sign that you are free or back in charge. The stink of humanity will be carved from you first, but we need to bring stability to the realm you have degraded. That’s the priority.” She trails off still fuming. Crowley keeps his mouth shut during the next moments of uneasy silence.

Death’s abrupt departure is matched by his return. He moves through time and space seamlessly without effort or obstacle. Gabriel – who is with him – looks ruffled though with Death standing near enough to touch him. The AWOL falsely supposed dead Archangel has a mutinous look on his face. He cannot believe he’s being dragged back into another mess with Heaven and Hell. He did his share last time, standing up to Lucifer, giving the Winchesters the information they needed to reopen the cage and imprison his brothers. He has earned his anonymity.

Joshua, Juan, and even Inias gape at him, as Gabriel’s face draws into a mutinous frown. “What?” He demands petulantly. “Rumors of my death greatly exaggerated? Again?”


	17. Chapter 17

Groaning Dean rolls off the couch, landing heavily on his knees. His head is reeling; he feels fuzzy and disoriented. “I’ve been drugged.” His gruff words are slurred and trying to talk, to hold his head up, is making his stomach twist and churn. He reaches out and snags a wastebasket by the table retching into it. Looking around blearily he spots a beer bottle. He swishes some around in his mouth to wash out the taste of vomit and spits into the can. Then he swallows what is left in the bottle before passing out again curled on the floor.

Castiel finds him there when he comes in looking for a specific book that was referenced in the one he had been using for research. Without his superhuman strength, Cas struggles to lift Dean who is lean but firmly muscled, but Cas gets him moved back onto the couch, propping him on his side because the former angel is worried that Dean could choke to death on his own puke. After he gets Dean suitably situated, he bustles around cleaning up. Cas understands what happened, and he is getting angrier at Sam the more he thinks about it. This is low and sneaky, not honorable, drugging Dean so he cannot sacrifice himself for the world, for them.

When the dark haired man finishes washing out the bin, he places it back where it belongs. A short search _ the books are well-organized – allows him to find the material he was looking for, and he drags one of the heavy library chairs close to the couch, sitting where he can research and watch over Dean, sky blue eyes filled with worry and regret. Charlie finds him there when she comes back into the library. “Is he okay,” the red-head stage whispers to Cas, brown eyes widened with feeling.

The former angel makes a moue of dislike. “He’d vomited and was lying on the floor. And I think he drank the rest of whatever it is Sam added to the bottle.” He raises concerned eyes to her – they share a deep affection for Dean who always seems too busy taking care of everyone else to worry about himself. “I cleaned up, and I’ve got him back onto the couch.”

“Sorry. I would have helped if I had known.” Charlie is nervously moving about the room, fidgeting with things, making it hard for Cas to try to make eye contact with her. He turns back to his book, not looking up again until Charlie is perched on the edge of the couch between him and Dean. He watches dispassionately as she pulls the blanket back up to Dean’s shoulders and softly pats his shoulder. “I feel so responsible.” Charlie’s voice is low and soft, but Cas hears her and closes his book.

“You had nothing to do with this.” Cas waves his hand indicating the passed out figure. “You have no need to feel guilty.” He clears his throat a little. These two do not always get along as well as they ought, both vying for Dean’s attention like spoiled children. Cas knows they blamed each other for not having Dean’s back in the hunt for the Loup Garou which eventually left him without memories. And it was both their faults that the older Winchester woke alone and confused, and then wandered off on their way home.

Now with angels arrayed with demons outside the bunker, and Death himself telling Dean he would have to make a sacrifice, they both feel like they should have known Sam was desperate. They should have stopped him from drugging his brother, but they also know that Sam has Dean’s best interest at heart. Dean is always willing to sacrifice himself for any of them, as though he is the least of them instead of the glue holding them together. Even this memory-less version of Dean has that streak of heroism.

All these added together make it make sense that Sam decided to take Dean out of the impending confrontation. Cas’s thoughts flit across his face like a ticker, and Charlie reads them. She nods her head, accepting her share of the blame before pulling up another library chair and placing it next to Cas’s. She turns to face him fully for a moment. “I don’t want to lose him either, but I am not letting Sam drug him, not again.” Charlie’s words are a promise. To herself she adds that she will not allow Dean to wake up alone again either. Castiel nods his agreement.

Cas reads while Charlie naps, a pair of mismatched guard dogs. As Cas studies the old tome written in an archaic form of French - because languages are a skill he did not lose along with his grace - his finger follows the tiny handwritten lines. After a while, he stops, taps the page. And then the angel reads it again, sitting straighter, excitement apparent on what was once an unimpassioned face. “Got it!” He turns to Charlie. “Watch him for me. I’m going to gather a few supplies.”

**. . . . . . .**

Outside the bunker, demons and angels gathered in greater numbers, and Death hung a shroud over the area to obscure the beings from mortal eyes. Every few minutes, the shroud was pierced to have Cherubim, Seraphim, Virtues, Thrones, Dominions, and Principalities wander in singularly or in pairs or groups of three. Ancient major and minor demons, rushed through stepping quietly when they saw Death himself was holding court. He had once told Dean that he was more powerful than Dean could possibly imagine.

Death sat at the head of the table with Gabriel on the right side. They were the only two creatures left free on Earth who could still enter Heaven, the Reaper and the missing Heavenly nuke. The two listened as the angels and demons made demands, threats, and alliances. Abaddon and Crowley sat opposite the Archangel on Death’s left.

“Part of this is on you.” Crowley barks at Death, whose face becomes frozen in an expression of dislike. “If you kept your bloody reapers on a shorter leash, the idiots in plaid couldn’t have found a rogue to sneak them into Hell. Your boy was meddling in soul assignments. Helped the flipping Winchesters with the trials.”

Death’s normally dispassionate face twists into anger, and the others stop breathing while he wrestles with it. “You...” Death points at Crowley. “You verminous reject. You dare to lay the blame of this on me?”

“You entered Hell and stole the Boy Prince’s soul from the cage. You treat Dean Winchester like some kind of pet.” Crowley keeps going. He has nothing to lose and a lot to gain. He is currently Abaddon’s prisoner, but he has followers. He is reminding them what he has accomplished, facing interference from the Creator and Reaper, the Boy Prince and the Righteous Man, angels and archangels.

“Enough.” Death does not raise his voice to get his point across, but Crowley’s mouth snaps shut. “I will take care of my reapers.” No one questions how. He turns to Abaddon. “Do you have anything to add?”

The ancient demon, one of Lucifer’s lieutenants, thinks carefully before speaking. “You need Michael to regain Heaven. I think it only fair then that we get Lucifer to reign in Hell. There must be balance.”

Death looks at her, not denying what she said. “We will do this without Michael or Lucifer. They have not yet come to an agreement.” He nods his head at them. “Demons – return to your home. Go to Hell and work out your problems there. Lucifer will not be freed.” As the demons grow loud, spitting out their displeasure, Death intones. “I banish you.  I banish you. I banish you.” As though it is always that easy, the demons are gone. No smoke, no pops of color or unnecessary sound. For the first time in millennium, there are no demons on Earth.

Death turns his attention to the angels. They want Metatron, dealt with and they want to return home to a stable place, something that has been denied them since the aborted Apocalypse. Word is whispered to all the newcomers that Death was representing the humans, and rumors started that God himself planned to join the summit. That their Father would come care for his first children. Death waves them silent and sits brooding.

Gabriel fidgets next to him, but stops after Death turns his gaze on him. “I’m getting fried chicken, fried okra, biscuits and coleslaw from Mama Dip’s in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. I think I’ll get pecan tarts too. Would you like some?” Death asks politely. “I find her recipe to be the best fried chicken in America.”

“Sounds good,” the archangel says. “Lots of pecan tarts for me, please.”

Death looks as pleased as he ever does. “Good. While I’m gone, I want you to join the Winchesters in the bunker. They are in there with your pest of a brother, Castiel, a girl, and the prophet. I believe their provisions are low.” Death then turns to the rest of the gathering.

“You angels are to wait here, without fighting. My brother was correct when he said you are the most quarrelsome of his children, but you do not belong here walking amongst the mortals. We are working on your concerns.” The angels still obediently.

“That was…that was, awesome.” Gabriel turns an admiring smirk toward Death, who isn’t there any longer. Gabriel decides it’s time to follow orders for a change and he heads to the bunker door.

**. . . . . . .**

Dean wakes again, sneezing from the smoke and sputtering from the vile concoction he has just swallowed. “Dammit, Cas, that tastes like ass.” He chokes out, sitting up quickly, but then finding his body uncooperatively woozy.  Charlie reaches over to steady him as he swallows convulsively.

“Gaaaa.“ Dean mutters holding his head in his hands to try to stop the spinning. “Whatever that was worked, so write it down. Sam can index it with cures later.” He finally pulls himself together and looks around the room. “Where is that pain-in-the-ass, mickey slipping, little sneak anyway?”

Castiel cannot help but smile. He can tell it worked and that this is Dean in his right mind. “Of course I’ll write it down. It will be cross filed with Loup Garou death spells and hex bags.” He cuts off his words as he realizes how many variables it took to make the circumstances to begin with. “Your memories have returned?” Cas needs the reassurance provided by Dean’s nod, but winces in sympathy as Dean stifles another groan.

“Worst frikkin’ headache ever,” Dean is muttering as Sam walks into the room and stops abruptly taking in the scene in front of him. Dean lurches at him, but in his weakened state Charlie manages to hold him in place. “Drugs, Sam? That’s how you wanna deal with dissent?”

Sam flushes guiltily and then he grows angry. “How is that worse than locking me in the panic room? Or knocking me out with your fist?” Sam’s jaw juts out at a stubborn angle, but he realizes that this is his Dean. He didn’t look confused at the old recollections at all. He looks around and sees the remnants of potions and solutions, and he turns to Castiel. “Did you write it down?”

The former angel huffs. “Will you allow me a minute to clean up? As I had to do from your brother’s reaction to the drugs you put in his beer. We are lucky he did not die from choking on his own vomit.” Castiel has been influenced by both Winchesters during his time on Earth. What Sam sees in Castiel’s expression is an almost perfect copy of his own pinched-lip bitch face.

Dean tries to get up again, but Charlie hangs on and he flops back. “What was in the beer, Sam?”

“Just some valium. It should wear off soon, Dean.” The taller Winchester approaches his brother. “I couldn’t let you go haring off making decisions without your memory, and…and you hit me.”

The older brother’s lips twist. “Come closer and I may just do it again, bitch.”

An uncertain smile tries to move onto Sam’s face. His brother cannot be that angry with him. “Jerk.” Sam says fondly; glad to have his brother back as the weight of leading the group or facing the siege lifts.

Charlie and Castiel shake their heads. They both are a little envious of the unbreakable link the Winchesters share, the acceptance of each other, the endless forgiveness. But before either of the can chime into the brother-fest or demand anyone be held accountable, there is a loud banging at the door of the bunker.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? Are you there my wonderful readers? Do you hate my ideas for where they could go S9?

The four hunters in the Men of Letters bunker startle at the pounding at the door. First of all, they had not been expecting the angels and demons outside to knock; secondly the voice was strangely familiar, but impossible. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Grandmother, let me in.” The voice outside the door calls, continuing knocking.

“The Three Little Pigs and Red Riding Hood, that’s twice now it would be the wolf at the door,” Dean yells through the closed portal as Charlie uses the computers to make the outside cameras point at the front door. As though he could tell he was being videoed, the figure outside turns toward the camera and twirls his mustache. He quirks his eyebrow and blows the camera a kiss.

Castiel gasps. “It can’t be…”

While the hunters in the library stand frozen in front of the computer screen, Kevin stumbles to the front door from his bedroom upstairs. He throws it open. “What? Who are you and what do you want?” The teenager has been hiding out and sleeping, still upset over his earlier disagreement with the group.

“Hey, Kevin? Right? Thanks for answering. Now if you’ll just smudge the angel ward there.” Kevin reaches out to obey. “That’s right. I’ll just come on in then. I’m Gabe, uh, Gabriel. Archangel. Kinda tasked with guarding the prophet, I guess.”

The rest of the group is hurrying up the stairs, but what the angel in front of him just said registers with Kevin. “Guarding me? You’re supposed to guard me? Then maybe you’d care to explain where the hell you were when the Leviathan kidnapped me? Or when Crowley did – and cut off my finger! Where were you? And where were you when Crowley killed my girlfriend or when he killed my mom?” Kevin’s anger is ratcheting up with each accusation.

Gabriel grabs Kevin’s hand, makes a big show of turning it over. “Looks fine to me.”

Kevin jerks his hand back. “No way. You don’t just get to wave it all off! Crowley. Chopped. Off. My. Finger. With a knife. And, where were you? And what about my mom?”

“I’m not your mom’s angel.” The older dark-haired archangel is the exact same height as the young prophet, and it was apparent as he leaned in almost touching Kevin’s nose and glaring at him. “I’ve been in hiding, you whiny bitch, witness protection. And you…just you, not you and everyone you know, weren’t in danger of dying. So suck it up, Bucko.” Gabriel continued to glare a moment longer before straightening up and turning toward the Winchesters. “Better get your wards back up….”

Gabriel doesn’t finish his sentence before Joshua, Inias, and a third angel walk in behind him. “Too late now.” Gabriel mutters. Then he perks up. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?” He quips, enjoying the looks of disbelief on Dean, Sam, and Cas. “Now don’t make a fuss. I know you missed me.”

“Gabriel, I thought you were dead!” Unsurprisingly it is Castiel who speaks first; but as he approaches the Archangel, he notices the stern looks from the other angel and stops. Cas had spent weeks dodging fallen angels right after Metatron evicted the angels. He hadn’t had a specific problem with these guys, but he had learned to be wary.

“Castiel.” The name rolls out of the third angel’s mouth like a church bell tolling, loud, low, and almost mournful. He’s tall, taller than Dean but still a few inches shorter than Sam. His voice matches his face, there’s something sharp and angular there. “You’re alive.”

Something in the angel’s voice gets Dean’s hackles up, and he glides between Cas and the newcomers. Cas sees the patented big brother move and tries to outmaneuver him, but Sam grabs his arm. “Who are you, and why do you care?” Dean barks, getting straight to the point. These angels have entered his home uninvited and now one may be threatening one of his.

The new angel flicks his eyes over Dean. Then he stops, considering the man before him. Dean Winchester is infamous in Heaven. The Righteous Man who started the Apocalypse by spilling blood in Hell, Michael’s vessel who refused his destiny. The hunter who killed Zachariah like he were just another monster, the human who almost became a demon, the man who spent a year in Purgatory and became what the monsters feared, and, even more importantly, Dean Winchester for whom God had directly intervened several times…even though their father hadn’t interfered on their behalf. And now, here is Dean Winchester being represented in negotiations by Death.

Dean is used to angels being other-worldly, so he withstands the intense gaze longer than expected, and then he snaps. “Jeesh, Dude, take a picture…” Dean’s voice draws the angel’s attention back to the present. “Who are you?” Dean repeats.

“Ezekiel. His name’s Ezekiel, Dean-o. I think you know Joshua and Inias. Now unless you want to be host to the Heavenly Host, you better put your wards back up. And then, boy-o, you’d better get ready for dinner because Death is bringing take out. Anything else you need to know?” Gabriel is moving further into the bunker as he speaks, clapping Sam’s back and clasping arms for a moment with Castiel. “So, still not dead, hey, Cas? Me neither.”

“How? How are you not dead?” Sam stammers. Dean seconds. “Yeah, I mean we saw you. There were wing marks?”

Gabriel snorts. “Tricks of the trade. And, hello, that’s rich coming from you guys. You’re not dead either. You, the Samsquatch, Castiel the jack in the box angel. You’re still kicking it. Why should you be having all the fun?”

Charlie scrambled to rework the angel proofing, realizing as she did so that that trapped four angels inside the bunker with them. This day was certainly becoming more interesting by the moment. As she turns back from the door, Charlie almost trips over Gabriel, who catches her to steady her and waggles his eyebrows at her.

“Wrong team,” Charlie snorts, and Gabriel shrugs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He turns his grin into something less lecherous. “So what’s your name Red?”

A dry voice wafts across the room with the mouth-watering smells of Southern comfort food, “Now that we’ve all been introduced…” Death has returned with dinner.

Death and food, in cultures throughout the world the two are paired whether it is neighbors or church communities bringing dishes of food to the families who lose someone, to traditions of gathering after a funeral to eat and memorialize the dead. It is a strange dichotomy, bringing food to sustain life when one is faced with mortality.

In the Men of Letters Bunker, smack dab in the center of the continental United States, Death coming to dinner is a literal event. The angels decline to eat, standing back and zoning out in their otherworldliness, except for Gabriel who enjoys human traditions. Castiel, Kevin, and Charlie fix their plates awkwardly around the solemn figure, but quietly eat. Sam pushes his food around, too worried to enjoy it. Dean has no problem digging in to the fried chicken and biscuits, making practically pornographic noises of pleasure. Death eats more slowly and methodically, but the corners of his mouth curve up at Dean’s obvious enjoyment.

“So, I see you are back to your usual self, Dean.” Death says it mildly, but he is obviously pleased that at least one hurdle was crossed with him needing to take matters into hand.

“Yup, Cas and Charlie worked it out. I’m still a little too relaxed, thanks to Sam slipping me some valium.” Dean takes another mouthful and chews quickly. “This is the best fried chicken I have ever had.”

“It’s nice to see you enjoying it, Dean. It’s a gift you have, enjoying the little things when you are standing in the shadow of doom and gloom.”

Dean flashes a smile. “Doom and gloom. Think that’s my middle name.” He tears off a hunk of chicken and shoves it in his mouth, licking his fingers. “So, Death, ummm. I’m guessing my marker’s come due.”

“Marker? What marker, Dean?” Sam stops pretending to eat. “Did you make a deal? When did you…wait, is this something to do with me? With the trials?” Dean watches as his brother the genius works things out in his head, seeing as pieces fall into place in Sam’s mind. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch, did you make another frikkin’ deal for my life? Imma kill you myself!” Sam has worked himself into a towering fury, standing and kicking his chair back before grabbing Dean by the front of his tee shirt and pulling him up to glare at him fiercely.

Sam shakes Dean before turning toward Death. “Whatever he owes you, I’ll pay.” And Sam’s fury turns to desperation. Dean is trying to get Sam to release him, but the younger, bigger Winchester is not letting go. He shakes his brother again, voice breaking. “Not again, Dean. I am not letting you die for me again.”

“Sammy, Dude, let go. I’m not dying man. C’mon, Sam. Let me go.” Dean works himself loose and drops a few inches onto the floor, grabbing onto Sam’s forearms to stop his brother. “Let’s just, you and me, let’s go to my room where we can talk. I swear Sammy. No death, okay. C’mon, man, come talk to me.” He glances around and sees all the interested pairs of eyes on them. “Let’s not do this here.”

“Sit down. Both of you.” Death’s tone is stern, and both Winchesters find their seats. “We will talk about everything after I am finished my meal.” He glares a moment, and then he switches tone into an indulgent parent. “There’re pecan tarts for dessert.”  

But Dean has lost his interest in food; his head is bowed and his fingers twist together. While his memory was gone, Dean did not have to worry about his secret coming to light. He knew Sam wasn’t going to like it when he did it. Now, Sam refuses to meet his eyes. Dean lays his hand on Sam’s arm, but Sam pushes it off.

“I don’t understand.” Castiel is staring pleadingly. “When did you make a deal, Dean? And with whom?”

The silverware clinks abruptly as Death sets it down next to his plate. He turns to contemplate Castiel. “Dean and I have come to an understanding. He knows that he has become an agent of chaos and he is willing to do what he must to bring order back to Heaven and Earth. You, Castiel, and you, Sam, will reap the benefits of his action, but you are not the only ones affected. Now…” Death opens a bakery box. “I have not had a chance to eat my tart. Who would like one while these brothers come to an understanding.”

Dean leads Sam down the hallway away from prying eyes. He leaves him perched on the chair in Dean’s bedroom. Finally raising his head again, Sam’s eyes drill into his brother. Sam has decided that he is going to get the details he needs now because he’ll need them to get his brother out of it. “How could you do this, Dean? You know I can’t go on without you. I can’t do this alone.”

“Sammy, I’m not going to be dead, and I’m not leaving you on your own. C’mon man. You know I’m looking out for you.” Sam shakes his head. “Yes, I am. You know I always look out for you. Death’s bringing back Bobby for you. He’ll help here. They’re gonna gather the remaining hunters and pair them up with the angels until Kevin can find a way to reverse Metatron’s spell. But I’m gonna take out that jerk… C’mon Sam. Trust me.”

With his throat feeling swollen shut, it’s hard for Sam to force out his words. “After everything we’ve been through? After this past year? You’re gonna go? I need you, Dean. You’re my family.”

“I said I’m not dying, Sam. Listen to me, please little brother. This may be selfish, but…Sam.” Dean inhales noisily. “I will never have to die. Never have to worry about becoming a demon in hell, or more of a monster than the monsters of Purgatory. Sam, that stuff, that worry eats at me. Death worked something out for me. I’m going to be free of all that.” Dean reaches out his hand toward his brother. “Sam, you’ve got to let me go.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more coming up after this to close.

“Sam.” Dean tries to get his little brother’s attention. Sam has folded in on himself like a turtle withdrawing into his shell. “Sammy, c’mon, Dude. After everything I’ve done. Everything I caused to happen, or just let happen. I’ve got to make things right. I had to make sure you were gonna be okay – and, well, me and Death, just. I trust him. He’s never screwed me over. We’re gonna make sure you’re okay and not alone. I’m not leaving you alone again.”

Dean perches on the bed just across from where his brother is curled into himself on the chair. The older Winchester’s hands flutter as he tries to explain. “I’ve got nothing left, Sam. Nothing but you, and you…. Well, you were dying. And I just, I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not me without you, and what’s left it…it scares me. Sam, I am more of a monster than you have ever been or could ever be. There’s not anything left inside me except darkness.” Dean shifts closer, but Sam shrinks back.

“You know, Benny said. Benny, before I killed him, he said he didn’t fit here anymore. And neither do I, Sam. But I’ve been trying – for you. I’ve been trying, Sammy, and you still felt like I didn’t care. I don’t know how…” Dean runs his hands through his hair and rubs them on his thighs. “Man, you gotta listen to me, cause I suck at this. At talking…. At feelings.“ Dean straightens. “Crazy Frank, ‘member him, he told me to just keep faking it. Just keep going. But I can’t anymore Sam. I can’t.”

Sam groans. “Dean, you can’t do this. You can’t die for me again.”

“You died for all of us, Sam. You deserve some happiness, and I was a selfish bastard. I came back from Purgatory and took your life again.” Dean holds his hands out, palms up, begging. “I’m not going to die this time, Sam.”

Sam cuts him off. “No! Dean, you don’t get it. I died before to redeem myself. I was selfish even in that. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Dean. You are…Man, I’ve spent my life seeing myself reflected beside you, and I always come out lacking. Dean, why does it have to be you? You’ve done enough. You’ve done everything. Everything for me.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, little brother. You saying I’ve been wrong all these years. About you?”

“Don’t try to make this about you!” Sam blurts before realizing that he’s making it about himself, about what he thinks he needs. A red blush creeps up his neck, and Dean can see consternation in his eyes.

“I’m not dying. I’m going to become Death’s angel. And I’ll be around, like Cas always was for us.” Dean’s putting it bluntly, knowing his brother is ready to listen.

“Sam, you’ve always been special, and I’ve always put your needs first. But this is something I need to do. I don’t even want you to think I’m doing this for you. It may be the one biggest, most selfish thing I have ever done. And I need you to let me have this. To let me do this. I should have died years ago, but I didn’t because of what Dad did. It wasn’t natural, and I cause chaos everywhere because of it. Everything that’s happened, everything that has hurt you, that’s on me. Demons everywhere. Leviathan. Angels falling. I can spend forever making it right this way, and even then I don’t know if I can fix it all.”

There’s a silence in the room as the two brothers sit staring at each other. “Sammy, there’s a reason for how things were structured, and I’ve kinda spent my life tearing it down. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. Life and Death.” He stops and lets that sink in. “I think we always knew that in the end, we want Heaven to win. We want it to be a safe place for people after they die. I can make sure that happens, Sam. I just need you to be okay. I need you to keep living. To be the Man of Letters. To take care of yourself, and Cas, and Charlie. Even Kevin.” His voice soft and his lip trembling, Dean comes to the end and gives a breathy chuckle. “Please, Man. I…I’m begging here.”

Sam gives a stiff nod, but stands up and turns away when his brother moves to hug him. Dean steps back. His face is a study in contrasts. There’s a light of hope shining in his green eyes that are welling with tears at his brother’s rejection. With his back still to Dean, Sam tells him to take his time. That Sam will go let the rest of the MoL people know what’s going on. And he walks slowly away.

**. . . . . . .**

It’s apparent that Death has already broken the news when Sam plods back into the library, head down and fingers twisting, not knowing how to explain what he just learned. With a swift glance, Sam figures out that there is more going on than just the part his brother will play, and he can tell Castiel is devastated.

Castiel barely glances at Sam as he hurries past, intent on talking to Dean himself. Sam watches him go sadly. He’s sure that Dean has this set, and like when Sam tried to stop him after he sold his soul, the younger brother is sure talking to Dean will be useless.

Death is marshaling the angels, except Gabriel. “Ezekiel, you are to organize the other Seraphim. Their new job is to scour the Earth and find the remaining Hunters. Search their hearts, and if they are doing it for the right reason and are intelligent, bring them here to be trained as one of the Men of Letters.”

“Or woman…” Charlie mutters, amazed at her own audacity. If Death were a cat, his ears would have twitched. “Or woman.” He adds with a slight tone of exasperation.

“What should we do with the unworthy?” Ezekiel asks, including Inias in the “we.” But Death puts a stop to the notion. “Inias will be guarding the prophet here at the bunker because Kevin must find the reversal spell. Joshua, until we reverse the spell, you and Juan and some of the Powers, Thrones, and Dominions will split your time between directing the Cherubim, training hunters in languages, and retraining the fallen angels who have not fared as well as you.” Death looks at them sternly. “If they cannot withstand their exile, we will need to end them.

“Surely there has been enough killing.” Joshua’s concern is honest. It makes the humans near him a bit more comfortable.

“If possible, we will save them, but I am leaving that in the hands of my new angel. Metatron.” Death pauses. “Metatron will join his brothers in the cage. I think they have some talking still to do.”

Sam blanches. He remembers too well the torment Michael and Lucifer put him through, and then he remembers one more thing. “I wonder. Ermm. I mean…” He decides just to blurt it. “Is there some way we can get my brother Adam out?” Sam worries even as he says it that Adam will be beyond redemption after years. But Death holds up a hand. “I am not taking requests.” He almost hisses in anger. “But I will tell you that when I retrieved your soul, I sent the other on to Heaven.”

“Gabriel, you and Dean will take Metatron. Then you will remain in Heaven to oversee it until the return is arranged.”

“I will, will I?” Gabriel’s tone is mocking, but even he flinches away when Death responds in anger. “You will, Gabriel. Your father and I have discussed this. It is time for you to accept your responsibilities.” Surprisingly, Death reigns in his temper. “Your father is relying on you, Gabriel.”

“Now, I have one more task before I leave because these, these are duties for the living. Dean asked one last thing.” And at that word and with a strong breeze suddenly rattling through the bunker, a grizzled old hunter in a ball cap is suddenly sitting at the table as well.

Bobby Singer narrows his eyes at Sam. “Boy, what did you do?” At Sam’s anguished look, Bobby retracts it. “What did your damn fool brother do?” But Sam is too choked up to reply.

Charlie pats Sam soothingly and looks over to Bobby. “He sacrificed his humanity.”

. . . . . . . .

The former angel Castiel makes his way slowly through the halls before reaching Dean’s room. He knocks and accepts the growl from inside as permission to enter. He moves slowly across the room until he sits next to Dean on the bed. “You’re leaving?” Castiel asks without trying to hide the pain he is feeling.

“Oh, Cas, please.” Dean groans and rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “It’s not like that. Cas, it’ll be like before, only this time I’ll be the angel in your pocket instead of the other way around. Please, Cas. Please don’t make this harder. You’re doing so well at this. I need to know that you’ll be here. That you’ll have Sam’s back.”

Cas nods his head slowly, tears welling in his expressive blue eyes. “I wish it could be me instead of you.”

Dean reaches down and digs a little in duffel by his feet. He hands the Hunter a bandana and pretends to ignore Cas mopping at his face. “Death said that you have been given mortality as a gift. I don’t understand it what all he was talking about, but he said that living a mortal life, someday dying of old age and having a Heaven were things you were never going to have as an angel. So, maybe, you should just stop bitching and enjoy it.”

Castiel chokes up too much to talk and Dean pats him on the back. “Go on back out there. See if Death brought Bobby back yet, and look after my baby brother for me, please. I’ve got a couple things to do here.”

And Cas stands up, feeling full weight of mortality for the first time. He leaves quietly closing the door behind him.


	20. Chapter 20

Left alone in his bedroom, Dean wanders around a little, not quite aimlessly, more like he is saying goodbye. Dean straightens the bedding where he and Cas had been sitting. Picks up the dirty clothes and puts them in the hamper. He runs his fingers along the book spines and album covers, and he takes his favorite gun out of his duffel, unloads it and sets it and it’s magazine on the shelf above the bed. He puts the keys to the Impala on the small table next to the bed.

Dean digs clean clothes out and then goes in to shower and shave, leaving the slight stubble he prefers and taking time to style his hair. He pulls on clean boxers before dressing in his best jeans, dark washed with no holes, soft, but new enough that they are not faded. A black tee and his dark red flannel shirt go on next before he pulls on socks and black boots. Then he puts on his leather jacket. Walking back over to the shelves, he picks up the photo of his mother and tucks it in the inside pocket of his coat.

Dean pauses a moment thinking before he goes over to the closet. He digs through an old shoe box he has on the shelf until he comes across an amulet he wore for years. He smiles slightly as he pulls it over his head and tightens the adjustable leather cord. He remembers when Sammy first gave it to him, and when he threw it away. He’s pretty sure no one knew he doubled back to that hotel room to dig it out of the trash. He straightens it around his neck, and then notices it’s starting to glow. He turns.

. . . . . . .

When he finally walks into the library, it’s Dean, but different. He is beautiful and awesome. The ginger highlights in his hair and beard look lit; his green eyes glow from within. In his hand, he holds an angel blade. He has wings curving over his head by more than a foot, glossy black at the tops but tapering down into dark crimsons, orange, and an almost molten gold along the tips that trail behind him. They look like they are on fire as they flutter out unevenly, almost overbalancing him.

Death snorts. “I see my brother has kept his part of the bargain.”

Bobby groans and gasps his name. Tears pour down Sam’s face. There’s a collective gasp as the bunker inhabitants realize that they are looking at God’s work - done here in the bunker.

“Then we are finished here.” Death takes on last lingering look at Dean. “You, I will be seeing.” He turns to take in angels and Hunters. “Singer, mind your children; Joshua, Ezekiel – you mind the angels. Don’t mess this up.” And then he’s gone.

Dean staggers a little further into the room, wings flapping haphazardly, knocking a few things down and sending papers flying. He looks pained at his own awkwardness. “Someone? How do I put these away?”

Gabriel coughs out what could be a sob or a laugh. Dean Winchester is not just holding an angel blade, it’s an Archangel blade. He remembers his lost brothers, dead or caged, and realizes that God has given him a new start. He steps forward. “I’ll help you, kiddo. I’ll show you the ropes.” With a wry grimace he adds. “C’mon little brother. We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
